


Superstar!

by teacuphuman



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Closeted Character, Happy Ending, M/M, Masturbation, Teenage lust, popstar Eames
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2018-09-23 18:29:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 21,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9670841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: Eames is an 80's popstar who enjoys pushing the limits of decency and watching his record label panic. Arthur is a senior in highschool who just can't stop masturbating to Eames' risque videos.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oceaxe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/gifts), [QueenThayet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenThayet/gifts), [dandalfthedisco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandalfthedisco/gifts).



> I haven't posted anything in way too long, and this is unbeta'd and barely checked because it's almost 2am and I'm spent. There will be more, eventually, but I'm not sure when. This is pure crack so far, and I blame oceaxe, QueenThayet, and dandalf-the-disco for encouraging this idea.

Arthur chews his thumb nail as he waits impatiently for the machine to rewind the tape. He’s watched it more times than he can count and already it’s starting to wear, the picture going wonky and green tinted. The video itself was released three weeks ago, and his best friend Ariadne recorded it for him, knowing Arthur’s grandparents would have a heart attack if they knew he was watching anything like it. The VCR clicks, and Arthur’s dick twitches. He says a silent prayer of thanks for Ari and presses play, banishing all thoughts of her from his mind. He has about twenty minutes before his grandma is due home from the bank and in that amount of time he can watch it twice and still have time to hide the evidence and make it back upstairs where his history paper is waiting on the kitchen table.

 

The tv is old, older than Arthur, but the screen is still clear, and it gets the job done. Arthur sits back against the edge of the couch and waits for the music to start. He bites his lip, the hairs on his arms standing on end when the bass beat starts. His body is well conditioned to know what comes next and he’s already pressing his palm to the front of his pants by the time Eames shows up on screen.

 

He’s hanging from the rings in a gym, lifting himself up with power and grace as men in tiny shorts and sweatbands do handsprings and jumping splits around him. Eames straightens his arms to the sides and the camera pans down, revealing the tight, white shorts he’s wearing. There’s a vein in his throat that bulges as he holds himself still and sings about wanting what he can’t have. 

 

Arthur’s already on his knees, creeping closer to the tv as the scene switches to Eames on the pommel horse, flipping himself into a handstand and executing a few perfect pushups before swinging down and over the horse. He lands beautifully, his bare chest glistening with sweat, and Arthur shoves his hand past the waistband of his shorts. 

 

He’s unbearably hard as Eames jumps rope and winks at the camera before leading the other ‘boys’ into the locker room. Arthur pants along to the beat of the song as the dancers strip down to jock straps and execute a perfect routine, complete with hip thrusts and bare ass slaps. He starts to stroke in earnest when they head to the showers. Eames sling-shots his jock strap at the camera as it follows him in. The others are already wet and dripping, laughing and soaping each other up while Eames sings into a bar of soap. His hair is stuck to his forehead, making Arthur want to lick the screen, but the last time he did that it shocked him and he’d had to tell his grandparents he bit his tongue on his run home.

 

Arthur’s cock jolts as Eames starts to lather, the camera pulling back just enough to catch a glimpse of the dark bush of hair below his treasure trail. Arthur groans, just like he does every time, when Eames turns around to rinse off and the top inch of his ass crack flashes across the screen. Arthur wants to put his mouth there, right between the dimples on Eames’ lower back. He wants to suck, and lick, and taste the salt of Eames’ skin. His eyelids droop as he strokes faster, pressing a hand to the tv screen as Eames comes out of the steam filled showers and into the locker room. There’s a lot of towel snapping and ass grabbing around him, but Eames only has eyes for Arthur, or rather, for the camera, but it feels like he’s looking right into Arthur’s soul, every damn time. 

 

Arthur arches into his hand, knowing he’s not going to last for another viewing, and Eames rips off his towel, shimmying into tiny, fluorescent orange shorts. He pulls on knee-high white socks and rests his foot on the bench beneath him as he ties the laces on his tennis shoes, his shorts stretching tight over his thighs and crotch. Ari swears if you pause it here you can make out the line of his cock, but Arthur truly doesn’t think he’d survive gaining that knowledge. 

 

Eames pulls a green ball cap low over his eyes as he purses his lips, blowing a kiss to the camera, and Arthur hits pause on the obscene lushness of Eames’ mouth, wet, and just open enough to make Arthur think he could slide his cock right between those plump lips. 

 

Arthur comes, biting his lips closed and streaking the frozen frame of Eames’ mouth as he shudders through several breaths, his dick pulsing in his hand. He slumps back onto his heels, his face burning with shame. A car door slams outside and Arthur hears his grandmother calling a hello to Mrs. Wellings next door. 

 

He scrambles to the box of tissues beside the couch, quickly wiping his hands and cock clean and shoving the mess to the bottom of the waste basket. The tv is a mess, and every time Arthur tries to wipe the come off, it smears worse. He swears and rips off his shirt, scrubbing it over the screen, then dashing to the washer and throwing it in, along with the load of towels he was supposed to put in when he got home. His grandmother is still outside, chatting amicably while Arthur starts the washer and gives the room a quick glance to make sure he’s left nothing behind. Eames is still frozen on the screen and Arthur ejects the tape as the front door opens. 

 

“Arthur?” his grandmother calls. 

 

Arthur swears under his breath, shoving the tape into an old boardgame box that’s lived under the couch since before he moved in. He clicks off the tv and bolts up the stairs to greet his grandma.

 

“Arthur, what are you doing?” She asks, frowning at Arthur’s bare chest.

 

“Running the stairs,” he pants. “Helps me think.”

 

“Well put some clothes on, it’s not decent to wander around half naked, You’re not a child anymore, dear.” She pats his cheek and goes into the kitchen.

  
Arthur slumps against the wall and closes his eyes. Almost caught. Again. He really needs to get this little habit of his under control before it all goes to hell. He tries to stop, really he does. It’s just that then Eames will pop into his mind, with his muscles, and his tattoos, and those fucking lips, and the next thing he knows he’s cuing up the tape and his cock is in his hand. He’s so screwed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ends on a bit of a low note, so have two to make up for it! 
> 
>  
> 
> Huge thanks to [deinvati](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinvati/pseuds/deinvati) for looking this over for me!

Arthur’s sitting at his usual lunch table on a Monday, two months later, when Ari drops her tray beside him, spraying him with what might be either mashed potatoes or tapioca pudding. Either way, Arthur’s a bag lunch kind of guy. He grimaces and wipes off the sticky goo, flicking it back at Ari as she sits and seethes, glaring across the lunchroom. 

 

“Bad day?” Arthur asks, unwrapping his pb&j.

 

“Fucking Cobb the Knob,” she says under her breath.

 

“Ah.” Arthur nods, biting into his sandwich because he knows Ari’s about to start ranting and he has a few minutes before she’s going to expect him to chime in with his opinion. Ari’s been nursing a giant crush on Mallorie Miles, one of the foreign exchange students here for the year, and she’s currently fighting a one-sided war against Student Body President Dominic Cobb for the young woman’s attentions. 

 

“He’s not her keeper, you know. He doesn’t have to butt into every conversation she has. What if we were talking about tampons? Does Dom Cobb have any treasured pearls of wisdom on which applicator is best? I fucking doubt it,” Ari hisses, just getting warmed up. “And do you know what he said to me? That I was Mal’s ‘little friend’. I’m three month older than he is!”

 

“And about nine inches shorter,” Arthur injects, earning him a punch to the arm.

 

“Shut up, it’s about quality, not quantity. And Mal’s only five inches taller. I’d fit perfectly under her chin, I bet.” Ari sighs wistfully, tracking the young lady in question across the room. “She’s not even dating him, I don’t know why he thinks she belongs to him.”

 

“Well, she does live with him,” Arthur points out.

 

Ari glares at him. “No, she’s staying with him. It’s different.”

 

“Is it?” Arthur asks, enjoying the way Ari’s face goes white instead of red when she’s mad.

 

“Oh, fuck you, Arthur. How’s your hand’s relationship with your dick? Wear out that tape yet?”

 

Arthur shoved half his sandwich in his mouth and slumped in his seat. He  _ had _ worn the tape out. Three days ago the ribbon snapped while it was rewinding, robbing him of his second round. Well, not entirely. He managed to get off in the shower later that night, thinking about Eames’ muscular thighs in those little white shorts.

 

“Oh, did I tell you Eames is releasing a new video next week?” Ari asks around a mouthful of apple, their argument forgotten. “Just in time for your birthday!”

 

Arthur perks up and turns toward her, bringing his knee up to rest between them on the bench. “I know, it’s for Mercy. I can’t believe he’s releasing that as a single. It’s amazing, but so not what he usually puts out.” 

 

“You know he supposedly wrote it about Robbie Fischer, the lead singer for Pretty the Mechanic? Word is they had a torrid romance when they opened for Eames on tour last summer, and Fischer broke it off with Eames when the band blew up. Eames was crushed.”

 

Arthur snorts. “I highly doubt he was ‘crushed’. Robbie Fischer is a pretentious asshole who couldn’t find his own dick if it was tied to his wrist.”

 

“Wow, Arthur, tell me what you really think,” Ari says, laughing.

 

Arthur ducks his head, smiling. Yeah, maybe his crush on Eames is as bad as Ari’s is on Mal. At least his is on someone completely unattainable so he doesn’t feel like a fool every time he sees Eames. Ari has it much worse; Mal is her French tutor. What started out as a happy chance at getting to know the new girl quickly dissolved into Ari stumbling through conjugations while trying not to stare besottedly into Mal’s pretty blue eyes.

 

In Arthur’s dreams, Eames is gay and interested, and never, ever says no. Ari has to contend with the minefield of hiding her sexuality while trying to decipher if Mal’s cheek kisses and lingering touches mean more than her being European. And she has to contend with Cobb, which no one should have to do. 

 

Arthur doesn’t hate Dom, he was the first person to speak to Arthur when he was the new kid, and Arthur will always be grateful for his kindness. But that’s also the thing that kind of repels him. Dom’s too nice. It bleeds from his pores and makes everyone around him feel like they’re just a little bit horrible inside because they’re never going to be as kind and genuine as Dom Cobb. You feel tarnished just standing beside him.

 

“Are you going to John Perry’s party this weekend?” Ari asks.

 

“Nah, my grandparent’s won’t let me.” Arthur shrugs. “You know how they are.”

 

“You know there’s this thing kids do sometimes. It’s called lying. Tell them we’re going to a movie, they love me.”

 

“It’s not worth it. If I’m going to chance lying to them it won’t be for John Perry’s shitty party.”

 

“Right, it will be for when we elope in Vegas after graduation,” Ari says, winking.

 

“You really need to stop telling people we’re doing that. It’ll ruin the surprise.” Arthur bumps his shoulder into hers.

 

“It’ll be easier once we’re out of here, right? We won’t have to pretend anymore? I mean, college is going to be the site of my glory years, I just know it. Girls as far as the eye can see.” Ari sweeps her hand out in front of her, like she’s envisioning young women lining up for her attention.

 

“Maybe for you, but I’m going to a State school. Too close to home to take that chance.” Arthur tosses the rest of his sandwich into the bag, his appetite gone.

 

Ari brushes a hand over his ear, disturbing the hair there and making him shiver. “You’ll get your day, Arthur, I promise.”

 

Arthur nods and looks away. He understands sometimes why his mom left. Why she ran away from the small town life she’d been born into. What it must have felt like to be stifled by her parents’ good intentions. His mother was a free spirit, and Arthur knows that had she stayed she would have suffocated here, the weight of expectation crushing her into dust. In some ways he’s happy he got to know her out there in the world. Got to see her happy, at least for a little while. 

 

When his step-dad Ron got hit by a drunk driver, his mom kind of faded away. Arthur watched as the happiness she’d worked so hard for drained out of her. She left on a Tuesday, calling her parents and telling them where to pick Arthur up. They didn’t get to Reno until Thursday, long after Arthur had cried until he puked and then gathered the things he would need to start his new life. 

 

They don’t talk about her, and Arthur has no idea where she is, no idea if she left him because she had to or because she wanted to. Almost six years have gone by and Arthur still doesn’t know how he feels about it.

  
The bells rings, signalling the end of lunch, and Ari jostles him, sliding her arm through his when they start walking, offering her silent support, just like she knows he needs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use the word 'slutty' in this chapter, near the end. I really dislike that word, but 1980's Arthur and Ariadne would have used it so I erred on the side of authenticity.

The following week, as Arthur’s making change for a customer at his grandfather’s laundromat where he works on weekends, Ari comes barrelling through the door, shouting something about Eames.

 

Arthur apologizes to the customer and pulls Ari into the back room. 

 

“Calm down, you’re scaring people!” Arthur hisses, keeping an eye on the front door. Most of the town knows his grandparents and the last thing he needs is someone telling them Arthur disappeared into the back with ‘that Collins girl’.

 

“Arthur, Arthur, Arthur, you’re going to love me forever. You’ll have to. You have no choice,” Ari tells him, a manic look in her eyes.

 

“Okay, are you giving me an organ I don’t yet know I need?”

 

Ari starts giggling, slapping her hand over her mouth when she can’t seem to stop.

 

“And now you’re scaring me,” Arthur says, stepping back.

 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Ari tells him, her breath hitching. “It’s just, I kind of am.”

 

Arthur frowns, completely lost.

 

“So, Phae buys those stupid magazines, right? Tiger Beat and Bop, and all that shit. Well, one of them had a ‘Meet your idol’ contest, and I entered.”

 

“Holy shit, did you actually win?” Arthur laughs.

 

“No,” Ari says, going up onto her tiptoes and grabbing his shoulders. “You did.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You’re going to meet Eames in LA next weekend, my friend.”

 

Arthur’s pretty sure his brain shorts out right then because the next thing he knows, Ari is pushing him into a chair and shoving his head between his knees, telling him to breathe.

 

“I can’t,” he croaks, once the dark spots fade from his vision. “Ari, there’s no way.”

 

Ari is sitting cross-legged in front of him, rubbing his knees. “Arthur, do you really think I don’t have a plan to get you there?”

 

“They’ll never let me go to LA. Never. Not even with one of them along.”

 

“Just shut up and let me talk,” Ari glances around the doorway, making sure no one will overhear them. “The lady that called said you don’t need a chaperone if you’re over eighteen. All you need to do is show up with i.d. that has your birthday a few months early. It’s really a small lie in the grand scheme of things.”

 

“Ari, I don’t even have a shitty fake i.d. How am I supposed to get one decent enough to pass scrutiny?”

 

Ari snorts. “Scrutiny? Arthur, this is a teen magazine, not the FBI. They’ll make you sign a waver and deliver you to Eames. They might even put a bow on you.”

 

Arthur chuckled, dropping his head in his hands.

 

“I already talked to Andy. He said he knows a guy that can get you a really good one by the time you leave. One with your actual face on it, none of this forty-year-old-copy-and-paste bullshit. Consider it his birthday gift to you.”

 

Arthur flushed. Andy was Ari’s older brother, and Arthur’s first major crush. He was three years older and had reacted better than most guys would at finding out about it. He’d also been Arthur’s first real kiss, the night of his going away party. Arthur was fifteen and felt like his whole world was ending because Andy was moving four hours away. He’d never done anything to lead Arthur on, but teenage crushes don’t need kindling to start a fire, and his attraction to Andy had allowed him to admit to himself that he wasn’t straight. Andy had found Arthur on the roof outside Ari’s bedroom window and kissed him. He told Arthur he couldn’t do much about how Arthur was hurting, but he could give him something to make up for not being what Arthur needed. It was soft and bittersweet, an echo of what Arthur wanted but couldn’t have. Andy told him that as soon as he was gone, Arthur would move on, find another cute guy to like, someone even better. A month after Andy left, Eames released his debut single and stole Arthur heart.

 

“That’s really sweet, but how do I get past my grandparents?”

 

“Arthur, you have to lie to them. I know you hate doing it, but this is a once in a lifetime opportunity!”

 

“I don’t think I can,” Arthur said in a hushed tone. The thought of telling them a lie, especially one this big, make his stomach clench.

 

“If not for this, then what?” Ari asked, sharp, but not unkind. “You’ve already passed up acceptance to better schools because they want you to stay close to home. You follow at least 95% of their rules without complaint, even the ones that are ridiculous, and you never, ever ask for anything. When do you get to have a life, Arthur? When do you get to do what you want? You deserve to have a little fun before you live the rest of your life making up for what your mother did.”

 

Arthur bites his lip as Ari kneels and wraps her arms around him. 

 

“ _ Excuse me, _ ” a disapproving voice says from the doorway.

 

Arthur stands quickly, wiping at his eyes. “Sorry, can I help you?”

 

The woman eyes Ari shrewdly before frowning at Arthur. “The gumball machine ate my nickel.”

 

“Let me get that for you,” he mumbles, going to the front of the store to jostle the machine.

 

“That girl back there, she’s one of the Collins girls, isn’t she? Ally?” The woman asks and Arthur stiffens.

 

“Ariadne,” he corrects. “Ari.”

 

“Ridiculous name,” the woman scoffs. “You’d do well to watch that one. As wild as her mother, I hear. You can do better than that, young man.”

 

Arthur shakes the gum ball machine so hard three fall out and onto the floor. He picks one up and brushes it off, handing it to the woman with a tight smile. “Have a nice day.”

 

Arthur turns to find Ari standing behind them, her face unreadable. The woman huffs and goes back to her laundry. Arthur tugs on Ari’s hair and her lip twitches. Comments about Ari’s family aren’t new to either of them and they’d long ago decided that ignoring them was the best response. 

 

Ari’s parents were hippies. Honest to goodness, flower crown, passive resistance, dope-smoking hippies. Most of the town thought they were irresponsible parents who subjected their children to their scandalous free-love ways when, in reality, Daphne and Drew Collins had been happily married for over thirty years and were two of the most devoted and loving parents Arthur had ever met. Sure, they lived in an old converted tour bus in their backyard while the kids had free reign of their small house, and Daphne was known to wander the aisles of the grocery store barefoot, and they really did smoke a lot of dope. But they were good people - something Arthur was eternally grateful to his grandparents for seeing. Drew had even come over to help his grandmother out when her roses mysteriously started dying last summer. 

 

“So?” Ari prompts, picking up the two errant gum balls and shoving them in her mouth.

 

Arthur sighed. “I’ll think about it, okay? It’s kind of a big decision.”

 

Ari rolls her eyes and punches him in the shoulder.

 

“Thank you,” Arthur blurts. “For um, entering me,” he whispers. “That was really cool of you.”

 

“The coolest.” Ari smirks, backing through the front door and wandering down the street.

 

Arthur takes a deep breath and goes back behind the till. He takes out his math homework but his mind keeps sliding away from the equations on the page and towards what meeting Eames would be like. Despite what most people think, Arthur has an excellent imagination when the subject appeals to him, and Eames is person is definitely appealing.

 

When Arthur wakes up early the next morning, pillow on the floor, sheets twisted around his legs, and come smeared all over his belly, he’s made up his mind. He sneaks his laundry into the washer and calls Ari while his grandparents are out. He has to hold the phone away from his ear when she screeches at his decision.

 

“Arthur you are not going to regret this, I swear!”

 

“We still have to figure out a way to do this. I can’t just disappear for a weekend, they’ll freak out. I can’t do that to them,” he says in a hushed tone, even though he’s alone in the house.

 

“I know, I’ve got it covered. Can you come over?”

 

“Sure, I just have to put my laundry in the drier.”

 

Ari snorts. “Those sheets are going to be see-thru soon.”

 

“Oh, shut up!” Arthur hangs up the phone, his face aflame.

 

He sees Ari on the roof outside her window as he approaches the Collins house an hour later. He’d made sure to leave a detailed note for this grandparents and to bring along the homework he’s already finished as a cover.

 

“Get up here, slow-poke!” Ari calls.

 

Arthur waves to Daphne as he passes through the gate. She’s twisted into some painful-looking yoga pose on the grass, but she gives him a warm smile. He climbs out the window to sit beside Ari, closing his eyes and basking in the warm sun.

 

“Are you ready for my genius plan?” Ari asks, passing him a bag of sunflower seeds.

 

“Shoot.”

 

“There’s a swim meet in Phoenix next weekend.”

 

Arthur waits, but Ari just stares at him. “And?”

 

“You’re on the swim team.”

 

“Yes,” Arthur says slowly. “But we’re not competing next weekend.”

 

“I know, Arthur. That’s where the lie comes in,” she tells him, patting his hand. “We tell them the school is competing because of a last minute disqualification. Phoenix is close enough that they’ll let you go, but far enough that they won’t be tempted to go along. Say the bus leaves after school on Friday, and you’ll be back Sunday night. I’ve already talked to the magazine people, and told them under no circumstances will I allow you to miss school on Monday. But your flight out is Friday morning, so we’ll have to call in sick and I’ll drive you to the airport.”

 

“Wait, do they think you’re my mother?” Arthur asks, spitting out a sunflower seed.

 

“That seemed easiest. They do want to talk to you, though, so you’ll have to be here after school on Monday to take their call.”

 

“Another lie, then?” Arthur sighs.

 

“Nah, Daphne wants you to come for dinner, anyway.”

 

“Do your parents know about this?”

 

Ari gives him a dry look. “Arthur my parents are pretty easy going, but not even they would help us send you halfway across the country to meet a slutty popstar.”

 

“He’s not slutty,” Arthur mutters.

 

Ari laughs. “I guess you’ll know for sure after this weekend, won’t you?”

 

Arthur grins despite his worry. “Yeah, I guess I will.”


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur nearly hyperventilates in the car on the way to Flagstaff. Then again at the airport. And a third time when the plane takes off. Getting away from his grandparents had been unbelievably easy. They’d signed the fake permission slip Ari had concocted and apologized to him for not being there to watch him compete. They’d apologized. To him. Arthur’s stomach churns with guilt. 

 

He should be thrilled, excited, to be on a plane for the first time and on his way to meet the man of his wet dreams. Instead he’s clutching a plastic cup of ginger ale and trying not to cause an emergency landing. He looks out the window at the Earth far, far below, and wonders how badly his grandparents will think of him if they crash. Or what if something happens to Arthur while he’s in Los Angeles? He could get mugged, or lost, or kidnapped by an international superstar. Even he has to admit that last one doesn’t sound too bad. 

 

The young girl across the aisle pulls an issue of BOP out of her bag, Eames’ face blowing a kiss from the front cover, and suddenly it hits him: he’s going to meet Eames today. He’s going to shake his hand, and share his air, and he’s going to take everything he can get because it’s _motherfucking_ _Eames_ , and Arthur’s never going to get an opportunity like this again. He stops worrying about what happened before, and starts to anticipate what’s to come. Excitement builds in his stomach, making his skin buzz, and he starts to fidget in his seat. He’s going to meet Eames today, and Eames is going to meet him.

 

The plane lands with a jarring bump and Arthur shoulders his backpack, stuffed to the brim with Ari-approved clothing and one very optimistic box on condoms. There’s a man in a suit at the airport exit holding a sign with Arthur’s name on it. He gives Arthur a reassuring smile and leads him into a black limo where Arthur spends the next hour underwhelmed by the scenery as they make their way into downtown Los Angeles.

 

When they pull up to an ugly concrete office building, Arthur is ushered out of the car by a young woman in an orange pant suit.

 

“I’m Cora,” she says with a tight smile. “Follow me.”

 

“Um, where are we?” Arthur asks, hurrying to keep up with Cora as her heels click across the lobby floor.

 

“Santiago Marketing. We run promotions for Tiger Beat on the West Coast. We’ll be babysitting you this weekend.”

 

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Arthur argues, squeezing into the small elevator. 

 

Cora rolls her eyes. “You do if you’re here on the company’s dime. Besides, no one is going to let Eames run around with a twink all weekend. His brand would never recover.”

 

“I’m not a twink,” Arthur says with less conviction than he’d like.

 

Cora pulls him off the elevator on the seventh floor and leads him through a maze of cubicles to an unoccupied office. “You’ll wait here. Bathroom’s over there, don’t get lost.” 

 

Arthur drops into a chair and bites his lip. This trip isn’t anything like he thought it would be.

 

Cora sighs and shuts the door, leaning her hip against the edge of the desk. “Look, kid, don’t get your hopes up. They weren’t exactly pleased that they didn’t pull a girl’s name out of the hat, and they’ve cut out half of the weekend’s activities.”

 

“What do you mean? Eames has male fans, too.”

 

“I know, and most of them look like you. But you don’t buy the magazine, do you?” Cora raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

 

“N-no,” Arthur admits. “My friend entered my name.”

 

“Exactly. This contest isn’t about Eames, it’s about sales. Little girls run the world when it comes to celebrity merchandise and they want to see a girl just like them meeting their crush, it makes them think that if they buy the magazine, they can do it, too. Publishing pictures of a barely legal poptart like you is going to cost the publication money, Arthur. More money than running the contest will.”

 

“That’s not fair.”

 

“Life isn’t fair, kid. Someone will be by with lunch for you in a bit, I’ll be back later with a finalized itinerary.”

 

“Wait,” Arthur says before she can leave. “You said most of Eames’ male fans look like me. What do the rest look like?”

  
Cora smirks and pats his cheek. “John Wayne Gacy.”


	5. Chapter 5

Four hours later Arthur is checked into his hotel by the same intern who dropped off a McDonald’s Happy Meal to the office, offering Arthur a mean smirk and a toss of his head. He hands Arthur his room key, tells him not to get into any trouble, and walks away.

 

Arthur juggles his bag, the key, his itinerary, and the bag of Tiger Beat promotional merchandise Cora told him he absolutely has to wear for photos, and presses the button for the elevator. It’s a decent hotel and his room is huge. He shoves his clothes into a drawer, hiding the condoms beneath his shirts, and lies down on the bed. It’s just past four and Eames is supposed to pick him up at seven so he decides he can afford a short nap. The last thing he needs is to yawn through dinner with Eames. He sets the room’s alarm clock, then calls to the front desk for a wake up call, and if the girl at the desk finds the request odd, she doesn’t mention it.

 

Arthur wakes up to the phone ringing. The alarm clock goes off just as he picks up and he nearly falls off the bed trying to shut it off. He showers for nearly an hour, his nerves and the hot water convincing him he needs to scrub every inch of his skin at least three times, just in case his wildest dreams come to reality.

 

His mind drifts as his hands wander over his chest. His outfit for dinner tonight, as preselected by Ari, is ripped black jeans, a grey Bowie t-shirt, and a blue blazer they’d found at the local thrift shop and trade back and forth every month. Technically, this is Ari’s month, but she’d let him take it anyway, telling him it would be like having her there with him, and you couldn’t get any luckier than that.

 

Arthur’s just stepped out of the shower when someone knocks on his door. He hurries to wrap a towel around his waist and stumbles out of the bathroom. The knocking starts up again, a jaunty rapping from one side of the door to the other, getting louder and faster as it goes on. He pulls open the door without checking the peephole, worried something’s happened, and suddenly he’s very aware of his wet hair and the damp towel slung low over his hips because standing in the hall, hands raised from knocking, is Eames.

 

His eyes rake over Arthur’s half naked body and a smile curves slowly over his lips. “Well, darling, look at you.”


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur’s gaping. And staring. And possibly dooling, but he really can’t help it. Eames,  _ Eames _ , is in his hotel room. On his bed, to be exact, reclined across the hideous comforter, watching Arthur like he’s highly amusing.

 

Arthur is at least dressed now, having stuttered an apology and hid in the bathroom to pull his clothes over damp skin and have the biggest freak out of his entire life. Because EAMES. 

 

“They didn’t tell me you were a boy,” Eames smirks when Arthur jumps at being spoken to.

 

“Um, I’m sorry?” he offers.

 

“No, no, it’s lovely,” Eames assures him, his smile growing. “I like boys.”

 

Arthur can feel the flush creeping up his neck and he rubs his hands on his jeans, his fingers catching on the torn denim. “Um, you’re early, I think. I was told seven for dinner.”

 

“Oh, that,” Eames waves his hand. “I hate having a babysitter. Convinced the bird at the desk to tell me where the contest winner’s room was and thought I’d drop in before the publicist got a hold of you. They’d have nixed that outfit, I can guarantee.”

 

Arthur looks down at his clothes. “Why, what’s wrong with it?” 

 

Ari added a few more holes to the jeans, the highest cutting across Arthur’s upper thigh, the pocket liner peaking out between the strands, and the shirt was actually a women’s fit so it hugged Arthur’s ribs and barely brushed the waistband of his jeans, but it was a hell of a lot more modest than what Eames was usually photographed wearing.

 

“You’re practically indecent, darling,” Eames drawls, his gaze lingering on Arthur’s chest. “How old are you?”

 

Arthur flushes, swallowing loudly. “Eighteen.”

 

“Ha! Try again.” Eames rolls off the bed, slinking toward him.

 

Arthur stands his ground, his eyes fluttering closed when Eames leans in to pluck Arthur’s wallet off the desk at his back. He sucks in a breath, nearly groaning at the proximity and how good Eames smells. 

 

Eames pulls back, standing directly in front of him as he slides Arthur’s fake i.d. out. “Hmm, it’s better than the one I used to have, at least.”

 

“Are you going to tell the magazine?” Arthur asks in a hushed tone.

 

Eames eyes him closely. “How old are you really?”

 

Arthur reaches for the wallet, his fingers brushing over Eames’ as he fumbles his real license out. “I’ll be eighteen in less than three months.”

 

“Hmm,” Eames inspects the card, turning it back and forth in front of him. “Only a small lie, then.” He grins and shrugs. “Barely worth mentioning.”

 

Arthur relaxes, letting out his breath in a rush and nodding.

 

“I’ll just hold onto this, shall I?” Eames says, tucking Arthur’s real license into his back pocket. “I won’t do for anyone to stumble on the truth and ruin our fun.”

 

Arthur laughs nervously, the rumours of what Eames finds ‘fun’ flitting through his mind.

 

“I believe I owe you dinner, darling.” Eames slides his arm across Arthur’s shoulders and leads him to the door.

 

“Um, I think we’re supposed to go to-”

 

“Oh, who cares where we’re  _ supposed _ to go,” Eames scoffs, his hand heavy around the curve of Arthur’s shoulder. “No babysitter means no rules. And I’m in the mood for a little adventure, aren’t you?”

 

Arthur gazes at him. Eames is so close, and so warm, and for a second he wants to scream because no way is this happening. Eames whisking him away, out from under the thumb of anyone who might object, to take him someplace unknown, is pretty much how ninety-five percent of Arthur’s fantasies start. 

  
Eames stares back at him, his smile wide and infectious, and soon Arthur’s smiling, too, and in that moment there isn’t anything he wouldn’t say yes to. 


	7. Chapter 7

They exit the hotel through a side door by the pool, the smell of chlorine burning Arthur’s nose and the humidity making his hair curl over his ears. A Hawaiian man roughly the size of a small mountain is waiting in the alley for them beside two motorcycles. He hands Eames a shiny black helmet with a bored expression, barely sparing Arthur a glance.

 

“Thank you, Hani,” Eames says and pressed the helmet down over Arthur’s head.

 

“Um,” Arthur squawks.

 

“Adventure, remember?” Eames grins at him and really, in the face of all that charm and those perfectly crooked teeth, how can Arthur says no?

 

“I’ve never been on motorcycle,” he says instead.

 

“No problem, all you have to remember is to hold on tight, don’t lean too much, and don’t scream in my ear.”

 

“Y-your ear?” Arthur stutters, looking between Eames and the bike.

 

Eames swings his leg over the bike, accepting a second helmet from Hani, who Arthur figures must be his bodyguard. “Come along, darling.”

 

Arthur hesitates, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket. “You’re not, um. You haven’t been drinking, right?”

 

Eames scrunches up his nose. “Why do people always ask me that?”

 

“Well, you are kidnapping a contest winner,” Hani offers, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

 

“You, hush. Arthur needed to be kidnapped, didn’t you, pet? He was wasting away up there in that hotel room. Like a princess locked in a tower!” Eames insists, pulling his helmet on.

 

“I’m not a princess,” Arthur grumbles.

 

“No, you’re something else,” Eames says, and he’s staring at Arthur with a new intensity, as though Arthur’s a puzzle he wants to solve.

 

Arthur climbs on behind him, just to stop the full body flush that starts up every time Eames notices him. It doesn’t work, though, since the seat of the motorcycle has him pressed all along Eames’ back, his legs spread wide around Eames’ exquisite ass. Arthur scrambles back, trying to put some distance between them, but Eames’ fingers slip behind his knee and hauls him forward. 

 

“Everything I touch turns to gold, it’s all in my hands.” Eames sing quietly.

 

Arthur responds before he can stop himself. “I’ve got the Midas touch.”

 

Eames takes Arthur’s hands and presses it into the warmth of his chest. “Baby, let me touch your body and your soul.”

 

“Won’t you do that for me?” Arthur finished, staring at Eames’ back and feeling like he’s the biggest dork in the universe.

 

Eames cranes his neck to stare at Arthur, a new, softer smile on his face. “Well, aren’t you a delightful surprise?”

 

Eames starts the motorcycle and lowers his visor. Arthur hurries to do the same, fingers returning to grip Eames’ chest tightly at the first jolt of movement. Eames pulls out onto the main road, slotting into the traffic easily. Arthur’s vaguely aware of the bike behind them as the wind rushes around them, pulling at his clothing and surging under the helmet. It’s exhilarating in a completely terrifying way and Arthur’s pretty sure he’s going to have a weakness for guys on motorcycles from now on. 

 

They speed through downtown, palm trees strung with lights whipping past them, and by the time they merge on to a wider highway, Arthur’s starting to relax. At least until Eames leans forward, hand tight on the throttle, sending them shooting down the road, the wind now a high-pitched whistle in Arthur’s ears. His fingers are digging into Eames, his index finger slipping through a small hole in the fabric and pressing against chilled skin. Arthur takes a minute to admit he likes the thought of leaving a physical reminder of himself on Eames, then it’s back to abject terror as Eames leans the bike into a corner.

 

The take the next exit and Eames reaches back to pat Arthur’s thigh, like he’s congratulating Arthur on not freaking out and killing them both. Arthur makes a choked sound and presses closer to Eames, spreading himself over Eames’ denim covered back and closing his eyes. 

 

Arthur finds the ride easier with his eyes closed, the roar of the bike fading into the background, and Arthur’s stomach settling now that the world isn’t flying by dizzyingly fast. He doesn’t doze, not with Eames, hot and alive with possibility in front of him, but he reaches a kind of meditative state as they go along, like he did last summer when Ari snuck some weed from Andy and they smoked it at the closed drive-in theater, Arthur spending the night sprawled in the overgrown parking lot, staring up at the stars like they had something to tell him.

 

Eames slows the bike and leans into a turn, coming to a stop in a slow, gentle sweep. Arthur doesn’t open his eye until the bike is shut off, and when he does, he’s a horrified to see that he’s drooled a wet patch in the back of Eames’ jacket. 

 

“You alright back there?” Eames asks, his voice muffled by the helmet.

 

“Yeah,” Arthur croaks, jumping when Eames straightens and pulls his knee to his chest, swinging gracefully off the bike without kicking Arthur in the face.

 

“Stop, stay just like that,” Eames tells him as he starts to climb off. He unbuckles one of the saddle bags and pulls out an expensive looking camera, backing up and pointing it at Arthur, still perched on the bike. The flash goes off in between the automatic winding of the camera, and Arthur doesn’t move until Eames lowers it and give him that soft, shy smile again. It’s about three thousand miles away from the salacious grin he sports on magazine covers and album liners, and Arthur feels a bit like a thief stealing them.

 

The place Eames has brought him is a bit of a dive. Lit-up beer signs on the walls, cracked leather booths, a broken jukebox in one corner and a weathered pool table on the other. It probably looks like a hundred other bars in the state and Arthur has a flash of memory then, sees a much younger and small version of himself reflected in the mirror behind the bar. Eames nods to the bartender and tugs on Arthur’s sleeve, directing him to a small booth in the back by the unlit jukebox.

 

Arthur rubs his hands together to warm them, sneaking glances at Eames while he leans on the bar, waiting for their drinks. His pants are fitted, the of his ass a healthy curve under the snug material. Arthur thinks about being pressed up against that ass, not five minutes earlier, wincing when the booth creaks under his squirming.

  
Arthur looks around the bar at the leather and jean-clad patrons or the bar, all talking and drinking. This is hardly the place for such thoughts, and the last thing they need is to attract attention. Although, the bartender seems to know Eames and no one seems to care that one of the world’s biggest pop stars is buying beer for the underage twink he brought with him. Arthur frowns and takes another look around, noticing that all the patrons in the bar are men. There isn’t a single ad depicting a barely-dressed woman sprawled across the hood of a car, and the calendar behind the bar is of a rather scruffy man in chaps on a Harley Davidson, and  _ oh _ , Arthur thinks.  _ Well, shit. _


	8. Chapter 8

Eames returns with the drinks, clunking a very full glass of amber-colored beer in front of Arthur. Eames seems at ease here, his body looser and slower somehow - like he dropped the popstar facade when they stepped through the door. Arthur thinks he might like this Eames even more that he flashy one he jerks off to. 

 

“Where’s Hani?” Arthur asks, sipping at the foam in his glass.

 

“Outside.”

 

“He doesn’t like it in here?” Arthur guesses.

 

“Nah, he’ll be glued to the phone booth out front until we leave. He gets jumpy if he doesn’t talk to his woman every hour.” Eames grins and takes a drink. “So,” he says, wrapping his hands around the sweating glass. “What’s your question?”

 

“My question?” Arthur frowns.

 

“ _ The _ question,” Eames says, leaning closer. “The one every fan always has. The one thing they’re dying to know. Like who I shared my first kiss with, or my most embarrassing moment.”

 

“Why would I ask you that? Those are private. You don’t even know me, why would I think you’d tell me anything?”

 

Eames tilts his head, studying Arthur. “Some people feel I owe them that. That my life should be on display for them.”

 

“That sounds… stressful.”

 

Eames laughs. “It is. It really, truly is. Well then, I’ll ask you some questions, is that alright?”

 

“Sure,” Arthur shrugs, taking a healthy swallow of beer. Eames is looking at him strangely, and it’s a little intimidating. His eyes are bright and his smile is soft, and Arthur has no idea how he’s still able to string together coherent sentences.

 

“Where are you from? They didn’t tell me that.”

 

“Winslow, Arizona. Well, that’s where I live.”

 

“Why, Arthur, everything about you is a song.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Arthur rolls his eyes.

 

“Arizona!” Eames exclaims. “The Alamo!”

 

“The Alamo is in Texas.”

 

The smile falls off Eames’ face and Arthur can’t help but laugh. “Oh. It’s quite possible I know nothing about Arizona, forgive me.” 

 

“That’s fine. You’ve been there, though. Last summer you played in Phoenix.”

 

“Did I?” Eames asks, smile reforming. “And how was I? Did I give you the best night of your life? I bet I did.” Eames waggles his eyebrows and Arthur feels his face grow warm again.

 

“I un, I didn’t go.” Arthur admits, hiding in his glass.

 

“What?” Eames says loudly, causing some of the other patrons to look their way. “My superfan didn’t go to my concert? How is that possible?”

 

“Well, as entertaining as you are, I’m afraid my money is better spent on my upcoming college tuition.”

 

“Ah, you’re a practical man, Arthur. Your mother must be proud.”

 

“If I ever find her, I’ll ask.” Arthur mutters.

 

Eames glass drops to the table with a loud thunk. “Oh, Arthur, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” 

 

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago, and I’m fine.” They sit in silence for a while. “She’s not dead or anything. I mean, I don’t think she is. She’s just...gone.”

 

“But you do have someone taking care of you? Someone who tucks you in at night?” Eames asks gently, not looking at Arthur.

 

“Yeah,” Arthur smiles. “My grandparents.”

 

Eames nods, taking another drink. Arthur fiddles with his coaster, ripping the corners off, one by one.

 

”I can fix it,” Eames blurts. 

 

Arthur looks up sharply. “I don’t need to be fixed.” 

 

“Not you, darling, you’re perfect,” Eames tells him, eyes crinkling at the corners. “But I can fix you not seeing my show! I’m playing in the city Sunday night, you can watch from backstage. If you’re lucky, you’ll get hit with my sweat.” 

 

Arthur’s stomach drops “Oh, I’m, um. I’m flying out Sunday.” 

 

“So stay an extra day. I’ll cover your ticket. You really shouldn’t miss me live, I’m spectacular.” Eames winks, leering a little.

 

“I can’t. I mean, I really, really wish I could, but I can’t. I have to be home Sunday night,” Arthur explains, feeling wretched.

 

Eames’ smile morphs into something brittle. “Oh. Well, another time, perhaps.”

 

An uncomfortable silence descends around them, broken only by the sound of them sipping their beers. Arthur could kick himself. He’s sitting with Eames,  _ fucking Eames _ , and he’s wasting the night being awkward. 

 

”So what’s the most common ‘ _ the _ question’?” Arthur asks to break the tension. 

 

“Are you gay?” Eames answers immediately.

 

Arthur snorts into his beer. “You brought me to a gay biker bar so I think I know the answer to that one.” 

 

Eames gapes at him. “It is not a gay biker bar. It’s a bar that just happens to be frequented by bikers. Who are mostly gay,” he finished lamely.

 

“I rest my case,” Arthur tells him. “Don’t worry, Northstar, your secret’s safe with me.”

 

Eames gapes at him, his plush lips spread in a way that makes Arthur want to squirm. 

“Where on earth did they find you?”

 

“The Alamo,” Arthur says and grins when Eames throws his head back and laughs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur references Northstar, who was a gay superhero in the late 70's/early 80's. In one the comics, they vaguely mentioned that he was gay, which was a grand declaration then, and never mentioned it again until the character was picked back up in the late 90's.


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur is downing the last of his beer when his stomach growls. Eames stares at him pointedly, one eyebrow raised.

 

“Did they not feed you?”

 

“I ate at the offices, I’m fine,” Arthur insists.

 

“You have a free hotel room at your disposal and you didn’t order room service? Whatever were you doing up there before I rescued you?”

 

“Nothing, I didn’t. I napped,” Arthur flushes.

 

Eames makes an unimpressed sound. “You’re a growing boy, Arthur, you need to eat.”

 

“Oh, fuck you,” Arthur laughs. “You were supposed to take me for dinner, didn’t they tell you that?”

 

“I may have forgotten that part,” Eames admits, ducking his head. “Suppose I should have fed you before I plied you with alcohol.”

 

“One beer is hardly plying me with alcohol. I’m not that innocent.”

 

“No?” Eames muses, a smile playing on his lips. “Well, what would you like? Something decadent and expensive? Steak? Sushi? Would you like to eat your meal off a beautiful young hopeful? They do that here.”

 

“That sounds horrible and awkward.”

 

“It’s awful,” Eames agrees. “But I am here to squire you, so ask and I shall squire away.”

 

“I’m not totally convinced you know what the word ‘squire’ means, but how about a burger? Nothing fancy, just something easy?”

 

“Darling, easy is my middle name.” Eames grins and slides out of the booth, holding his hand out to Arthur.

 

Arthur’s heart soars when his fingers meet Eames’ and he lets himself be pulled to his feet. Eames tucks Arthur’s hand into the crook of his elbow and salutes the bartender on their way out the door. Hani has, as predicted, squeezed himself into the phone booth beside the entrance, but he says a curt goodbye and hangs up when they appear.

 

“Where to, boss?” Hani asks, pulling on leather gloves.

 

“Burgers, my good man. The biggest and greasiest in town.”

 

Hani thinks for a minute, then nods. “Sal’s in Inglewood. By the cemetery.”

 

Eames snaps his fingers. “Yes! Excellent. Come along, darling, onto the death trap.”

 

Arthur lets Eames usher him onto the motorcycle, enjoying Eames’ warm hand on his back. “You’re not inspiring a lot of confidence with that,” Arthur points out, pulling on his helmet.

 

“My manager made me promise to call it that at least once a day to remind myself of my own mortality. Made me watch all these horrible videos about accidents before she’d let me buy it.” 

 

“And you still bought it?” Arthur asks, leaning back so Eames can climb on. 

 

Eames cuts him a sharp smile over his shoulder. “I’m a stubborn man, Arthur. Once I’ve made my mind up about something, I get it.”

 

Arthur shivers and tells himself it’s the breeze, not the way Eames is staring at him, or the way his tongue comes out to smooth over his plump lower lip. Hani starts his bike, breaking the silence between them and Eames turns back to put his helmet on.

 

The second ride is even more exhilarating than the first, both because Arthur has adjusted to the high speed and because he lets himself cling to Eames, closing his eyes and pressing his face to the broad back in front of him. Eames reaches back and pats his knee, like he thinks Arthur’s scared and needs the reassurance.

 

It’s almost an hour to the diner and by the time Eames turns into the parking lot and kills the engine, Arthur is frozen and molded to the body in front of him. Eames laughs at him when he slides off the bike into a heap on the pavement.

 

“Do you need a sweater, darling?”

 

“It wouldn’t be so cold if you didn’t drive so fast,” Arthur says, his teeth chattering.

 

“It also wouldn’t be as fun,” Eames points out, helping him up and rubbing warmth into Arthur’s arms. “Better?”

 

Arthur nods, fighting the urge to lean into Eames. He’s gone this long without completely embarrassing himself, he can last the night.

 

Hani once again stays outside, wandering over to a phone booth on the corner. Eames orders him a burger, fries, and a shake as soon as they’re seated, and the waitress promises to have someone run it out to him. She looks a little starstruck when Eames gives her his plastic smile, and Arthur has to fight not to roll his eyes.

 

“Does that ever get old?” Arthur asks when she leaves with their orders. He can see her whispering to another server in the back.

 

“Does what get old?”

 

“The fame, the adoration. The falseness.”

 

Eames regards him with a small smile. “It’s not falseness, Arthur, it’s just another side of me. The one that can handle being what they want. That’s they guy on the magazines and in the videos. The one who does salacious interviews and flirts with reporters. He’s the brand.”

 

“You haven’t been like that tonight,” Arthur says quietly. “Not much, anyway.”

 

“Sometimes I am lucky enough to encounter someone who doesn’t want anything from me. That’s when I can put that guy away. I can let him rest and the other me can come out and play.”

 

“Well, I like the Eames I’ve been with tonight. The other guy is nice to look at, sure, but I like you better,” Arthur tells him, trying to play off his earnestness as aloofness.

 

“Hey now, I’m nice to look at, too!”

 

Arthur shrugs. “Eh.”

 

“Eh? Eh? Darling, you must be blind because I’m stunning,” Eames tells him, leaning across the table.

 

“You’re alright, but he wears those little running shorts, and I’m sorry, but that’s a lot to compete against. This,” Arthur motions at Eames’ denim jacket, thin t-shirt, and jeans. “Doesn’t really cut it when it comes to vying for my teenage affections.”

 

Eames sniffs, turning his nose up. “I’ll have you know I have a pair of those shorts in the bike, they’re just too cold to ride in.”

 

“Sure you do,” Arthur nods. “And that was really you on the pommel horse, too, right?”

 

“You little shit,” Eames laughs. “It  _ was _ me! I studied gymnastics for years. Even went pretty far in competitions before I was ‘discovered’,” Eames makes air quotes with his fingers. “Even planned to be here for the Olympics last year.”

 

“You were that good?” Arthur asks, leaning forward.

 

Eames shrugs, staring down at the table. “Used to be.”

 

“So what happened?”

 

“Can’t have everything, right? One had to go, and who can turn down the fame and fortune that comes with being an international popstar?” Eames spreads his arms across the booth and smiles, but it’s hollow and false, and Arthur looks away.

 

“What about you?” Eames asks, drawing Arthur back. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

 

“Um, I’m going to school to be a civil engineer,” he says, falling quiet when the waitress returns with their drinks and bats her eyes at Eames. Two of her uniform buttons seem to have popped open but Eames keeps his eyes on her face while he thanks her.

 

Eames takes a sip of his pop and then fixes his stare on Arthur. “I didn’t ask what you were going to school for, I asked what you wanted to be.”

 

Arthur bites his lip. “An aeronautical engineer.”

 

“You want to build spaceships,” Eames guesses, his face lighting up. “So why not do that?”

 

“Because  _ that _ would take me halfway across the country and I need something that keeps me close to home.”

 

“Why?” 

 

Arthur sighs, but Eames’ gaze doesn’t falter. “Because I need to stay close to my grandparents.”

 

“Why?”

 

Arthur glares at him. “I don’t have to tell you any of this, you know.”

 

“I know,” Eames agrees. “But I’d like you to.”

 

Arthur stares at him, looking for hidden reasoning, but all he sees is genuine curiosity and kindness, and it’s been a long time since anyone has asked Arthur what he wants. 

 

“My mom kind of took off when she was young. She didn’t tell them where she was going, or why, and it was really unfair. They didn’t even know about me until I was three and she got arrested for unpaid parking tickets. She didn’t give me up, though, she wanted me,” he says with force because he has to. “We were fine for a long time, but something happened. I have no idea what, but it had to have been something big because one day she was just gone. She left a note with my grandparent’s phone number and they came to get me. That was five years ago.”

 

“And you haven’t heard from her since?” Eames asks softly.

 

“No, but it’s fine. It is,” he insists when Eames frowns. “I’m fine. She’s off doing whatever and I’m with my grandparents. They just. They’re a little overprotective, because, you know, she gave them reason to be.”

 

“They don’t know you’re here, do they?”

 

Arthur squirms in his seat, feeling the urge to get up and run. To insist Eames take him back to the hotel, or to stick out his thumb and hitchhike all the way home. Anything to stop Eames from looking at him like he is. Like he feels sorry for Arthur. 

 

“I’m happy, okay? It’s not like I’m a prisoner. I have a life, and friends, and I’m happy.”

 

“But they don’t know you’re here.”

 

“No,” Arthur admits, unable to look at Eames.

 

“That’s why you have to be back Sunday night. So they don’t find out.”

 

“Are you going to tell the contest people?” Arthur asks, a sour taste in his mouth.

 

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” Eames asks.

 

“What?” Arthur laughs in surprise. 

 

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? That your grandparents would be upset about. Drink, smoke dope, knock up the neighbour girl?”

 

“Jesus, no,” Arthur chokes out. “I mean, the first two, yeah, but everyone does those. Not, not the other thing. No girls. This is the worst thing I’ve done. Lie to them so I can sneak out of town to meet a popstar. You’re it.”

 

“Hmm,” Eames says, sipping on his straw. 

 

“Are you going to turn me in?”

 

“No, darling, I’m not,” Eames smiles, reaching across the table to rap his knuckles on the back of Arthur’s hand. “I’m going to make it worth it.”

 

Arthur squints at him. “What does that mean?”

 

“It means, dear Arthur, that I intend to prove to you that I am an excellent risk to take,” Eames says, his foot nudging Arthur’s under the table.

 

“Am I going to regret this?” Arthur asks, unable to keep from grinning.

  
Eames smirks. “Not if we do it right.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FEELINGS

**Chapter 10**

 

Eames won’t tell him where they’re headed to next, and Arthur doesn’t push. He trusts Eames, he realizes. This man he’s just met and barely knows anything about. It’s not the famous thing, either. He just feels like Eames is open and honest with him in a way he isn’t with many other people. He talks to Arthur like they’re equals and like he’s actually interested in what Arthur has to say. He’s not used to that.

 

It’s another 40 minutes on the bike before they stop. Traffic is starting to pick up again as people head out for their Friday night plans, and Arthur can’t quite believe he’s only known Eames for a few hours. Somehow it feels more like years, and he still has two days to spend with him. His fingers curl into Eames’ jacket and Eames’ hand settles, warm and heavy on his knee. 

 

They pull up to the skeleton of a house on the beach, scaffolding and equipment scattered around the worksite. Eames pulls the bike right through the front door, killing the engine, but leaving the headlamp on. Hani has disappeared and Arthur can hear the waves crashing on the shore, about two hundred feet in front of them.

 

Inside the house is shadowed and still, and Eames makes no move to get off the bike so Arthur sits quietly behind him, waiting. The house is massive, or, it will be, with what will probably floor to ceiling windows along the beach side, giving the owner a spectacular view of the water. He can smell the salt and the sand and for one wild minute he wonders if they’re going to go skinny dipping. Then Eames is leaning back into him and taking off his helmet.

 

“Do you like it?” Eames asks.

 

“The house?”

 

Eames chuckles. “Yes, the house. The view, as well, if you care to comment.”

 

“The view is amazing. I can’t imagine having that right outside my door. The house is, um, big. Kind of hard to see like this, but I’m sure it’s nice. It’s big.”

 

Eames smiles at him over his shoulder. “Is it big, Arthur?”

 

“Shut up.” Arthur punches him in the shoulder, hoping it’s too dark for Eames to see his blush.

 

Eames climbs off the bike and offers his hand to Arthur. He hadn’t held it when they left the restaurant, but Arthur supposed a well lit diner isn’t exactly as safe as a gay biker bar when you’re hiding that particular secret.

 

They sit on the back steps, the construction materials left behind acting as a convenient shelter from the wind.

 

“Tell me about aeronautical engineering,” Eames says, staring out at the water. His hands are clasped over his knees and he’s tense in a way Arthur isn’t familiar with.

 

“What do you want to know?”

 

Eames turns to him, looking tired. “Why do you love it, Spaceman?”

 

Arthur wants to ease whatever’s on Eames’ mind so starts talking. He tells him about avionics and the fluid mechanics, about the cold war and The National Aeronautics and Space Administration. He tells Eames about the application he secretly sent into Stanford, and the one to Cornell, even though he knows he can’t afford it. He talks to Eames about wanting to create something no one else has even dreamed of, and being one of the minds behind technology that is going to change the future.

 

“I can do it, too. I know I can,” Arthur tells him, caught up in his own passion.

 

“Then why don’t you?” Eames asks quietly, leaning on his hand as he stares at Arthur.

 

Arthur looks down at his feet as his good mood fades. “Because I can’t.”

 

“You just said that you could.”

 

“No, that’s not. I’m smart enough, okay? But I can’t. It’s not an option.”

 

“Have you talked to your grandparents about it? Have they said the words ‘Arthur you are not allowed to be an aeronautical engineer’?”

 

“Look, you don’t get it - ”

 

“Oh believe me, I get not being able to be honest with the people who love you,” Eames cuts in, a sharpness in his tone.

 

Tears prick behind Arthur’s eyes and he doesn’t know why so he turns his face into the wind, letting it refresh him. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Eames says quietly, laying his hand on top of Arthur’s. “I shouldn’t take my issues out on you, that’s not what you’re here for.”

 

“I’m here to get to know you. I  _ want _ to get to know you.” Arthur tells him his voice tight.

 

“You’re here for the other Eames.”

 

“I already told you I like this one better,” Arthur turns his hand over, threading their fingers together with a bravery that surprised him. “You can talk to me if you want to. I won’t tell anyone.”

 

“Not even the magazine?” Eames asks with a wry smile.

 

“Eames took me for ice cream on the beach and then he won me a stuffed pony!” Arthur says brightly, relaxing when Eames laughs.

 

“No one will believe that.”

 

“Doesn’t matter, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

 

“What happened to the pony, then?”

 

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I traded it for crack obviously.”

 

Eames throws his head back and laughs, squeezing Arthur’s hand. “Now that, they’d believe.”

 

“So who’s house is this? Are we going to get arrested?” Arthur asks, looking around. 

 

“It’s mine.”

 

Arthur stares at him. “Are you serious?”

 

“Yep,” Eames shrugs. “Or, it will be, once it’s finished.”

 

“Geez, they should have held the contest after it was done and I could have just stayed here. This thing is like, four times the size of my house.”

 

“You can come back and stay whenever you want,” Eames says, voice low. “If I still have it once it’s done.”

 

“Why wouldn’t you have it?” Arthur asks, choosing to ignore Eames’ offer because it’s making him dizzy just to think about.

 

“Don’t really want it. My agent says it’s time for me to stop living out of hotels. Put down roots, she said. Take some responsibility.” Eames scrunches his nose up.

 

“You don’t want that?”

 

“I have nothing to put in it,” Eames says quietly.

 

”There are these things called furniture stores,” Arthur teases.

 

Eames smiles sadly. “People, Arthur. I don’t have any people to put in it.”

 

Arthur’s grin drops off his face and after a minute he shuffles closer to Eames, knocking their shoulders together. 

 

“Everyone I know works for me. Or I work for them. It’s lonely sometimes, being surrounded by all these people.” Eames sounds raw and it makes Arthur ache.

 

“You have me,” he says firmly.

 

Eames chuckles softly, pulling Arthur’s hand until it’s laying where their thighs are pressed together.

 

“I’m serious. If you think you’re getting rid of me just because I’m some dumb kid who won a contest, you’re delusional. I plan to stick around.” Arthur wants it so badly to be true, so he leans into Eames, willing him to understand that he’s serious.

 

“If you went to Stanford you’d only be five and a half hours away,” Eames says.

 

“Winslow is only eight and a half. Nearly the same thing.”

 

“Nearly,” Eames laughs.

 

They sit in silence for a while, staring out at the ocean, and part of Arthur is screaming because he’s sitting on Eames’ back porch, hold Eames’ hand, sharing secret with  _ Eames _ , but the rest of him feels solid in a way he never has. Like maybe they are building something that could last,even if it’s just a friendship. Eames is singing under his breath, but Arthur can’t make out the words, something about breaking apart on entry.

 

“Are you out at home?” Eames asks, pulling back to look at him.

 

“Are you kidding me? I live in Arizona. With my grandparents.”

 

Eames nods. “That’s what I thought. Do you plan to come out after you graduate? When you’re on your own?”

 

Arthur takes a deep breath, taking his hand back so he can rub his palms on his pants. His fingers catch on the tears in the denim and for a moment he wonders what it would feel like if those were someone else’s hands. Some guy’s hands.

 

“I don’t plan to live a lie,” he says carefully. “But I also don’t want to cause any strife in my family.”

 

“So you’ll only be queer when they’re not around?” Eames says, bitingly.

 

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Closeted Popstar.”

 

“That’s different and you know it,” Eames argues.

 

“You’re right, it is. Because I’m nobody. What does it matter if I’m not out to my family? But you have millions of people looking at you, watching you. Do you have any idea what it would mean for kids like me to have a hero that was out and proud? That stood up and said it was okay to be gay? To be happy about it?”

 

“I’m no one’s hero, Arthur,” Eames told him, giving him that tired look again. “If I came out all of this,” he gestures around them. “It would all be gone in an instant. They’d burn my effigy and destroy my records. My career, my life, would be over.”

 

“I don’t think that’s true, it only takes one -”

 

“Oh my god, Arthur,” Eames laughs weakly. “Wake up. It never just takes one. It would take an army and they’d still try to shoot us in the streets. I can skirt the line between gay and straight because it creates mystique. It sells. The second I step too far into the queer, I’m done for.”

 

Arthur wraps his arms around his chest, suddenly cold. He hates this house, and this beach, and the stupid contest that brought him here. He feels like a scolded child and he wants to go home.

 

“I’m sorry,” Eames says.

 

Arthur shakes his head and sniffs. “It’s fine.”

 

“No, it’s not,” Eames sighs. “I shouldn’t take my frustrations out on you. We lead very different lives and you’re…”

 

“I’m what?” Arthur prompts.

 

Eames picks up Arthur’s hand, turning it over and tracing the veins running along the back of it. “You’re lovely. Really, truly lovely. Thank you.”

 

Arthur blushes, and he knows Eames sees it this time because he grins.

 

“You want to know what my father told me when I quit athletics to sign my record deal?”

 

“What?”

 

“He called me a ‘poptart’,” Eames says, cracking up.

 

Arthur snickers. “You should write a song about that.”

 

“Maybe I will, Spaceman, maybe I will.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clothes come off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got a little more angsty than I intended, but I promise the end is worth it! MORE FEELINGS! NOW WITH ACTIONS!

The moon is high in the night sky when Eames gets up to grab something from one of the bags on the bike, and Arthur thinks to check his watch. It’s nearly 2am, and he still can’t believe this is his life right now. He feels mellowed, but also like he’s a little high; prone to uncontrollable giggling and getting handsy with whomever he’s with. The second part could either go really, really well, or worse than he can imagine. He sits on his hands, just in case.

 

Eames returns with his camera, snapping a picture of Arthur before he can protest.

 

“Come on, darling, let me capture you in the light of the moon,” Eames says, laughing when Arthur wraps his arms around his head.

 

“There are plenty things around here that are more attractive subjects,” Arthur tells him, voice muffled. “Like that rock. Take a picture of that.”

 

Eames obediently takes a few pictures of the rock, his camera clicking away before he turns back to Arthur and steals a few more shots.

 

“Please? Let me take just decent one. Something I can hang on my wall,” Eames pouts.

 

Arthur snorts. “What, I’m not good enough for your bedside table?” 

 

“I’d sleep with it in bed beside me if you asked me to,” Eames says, a small smile on his lips.

 

A shiver goes through Arthur that has nothing to do with the night air. “Where do you want me?”

 

Eames’ eye roam over him slowly and Arthur’s mouth goes dry, his heart pounding in his chest because the way Eames is looking at him is something new. Something private and the exact opposite of innocent.

 

“Lean back on the stairs. Pretend the house is finished and you’re here for a visit. The sun is warm on your face, and you’re waiting for me to come out so we can take a dip in the water to cool off.” Eames’ voice is quiet and low, the camera in his hands clicking repeatedly as Arthur arranges himself on the steps, imagining a cool breeze ruffling his hair, his toes curling in the sand. He closes his eyes and leans his head back, basking in Eames’ attention like it’s the summer sun he spoke of, hot and strong, turning his bare skin slick with sweat.

 

“Beautiful,” Eames breathes, and Arthur smiles. He stays like that, living in the fantasy until Eames looms over him, stealing what little light he could discern through his eyelids.

 

There’s a moment when Arthur opens his eyes where he swears Eames is going to kiss him. They’re faces are only inches apart, the camera held loosely in Eames’ right hand while the left braces him over Arthur, breath light and quick as his gaze darts between Arthur’s mouth and eyes. Arthur licks his lips, and Eames blinks, breaking the moment and pulling back, huffing out a laugh. 

 

Eames rubs his hand over the back of his neck and looks out toward the ocean. “Let’s go swimming.”

 

“What?” Arthur asks, his voice a little strangled.

 

“Swimming. Adventure. I promised you, didn’t I?” Eames grins.

 

“I’m not sure swimming at night is the adventure I was looking for.”

 

“Risk, darling. Nothing wagered, nothing gained. Can’t make an omelette without cracking a few eggs!”

 

“Now you’re just saying words,” Arthur frowns. “Is it even safe?”

 

Eames grabs his hand and pulls Arthur up so fast they collide, the heat of Eames’ body like a brand against his skin as Eames’ arm slides around his waist to steady him. 

 

“Security is mostly a superstition. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.” Eames’ breath ghosts over Arthur’s face and his eyes are bright and earnest, and suddenly Arthur wants to say yes to everything, anything.

 

“Was that Helen Keller?” he asks instead.

 

Eames laughs. “Seemed smoother than ‘Go out on a limb, that’s where the fruit is’.”

 

Arthur shakes his head and smiles, very conscious of how Eames’ arm is still wrapped around him. “You might be the most surprising person I’ve ever met.”

 

Eames’ face lights up. “Really? That’s nice, isn’t it? It means I’ll never bore you.”

 

“I doubt I’d be bored by you if I spent the rest of my life by your side.” Arthur means it lightly, he really does, but there’s too much honesty in his tone, too much hope.

 

“Is that so?” Eames asks, studying Arthur’s face. “Let’s start with night swimming, shall we? Then we’ll see where forever takes us.”

 

“Okay,” Arthur says, breathless as Eames winks and pulls his shirt over his head. Because despite the numerous holes in Eames’ shirt and the times Arthur’s seen Eames on tv or in print without his shirt on, nothing has prepared him for a half naked Eames standing right in front of him.

 

Eames is golden, and toned, and  _ warm _ , the softly curling hair on his chest shining in the moonlight.

 

“Do you like it?” Eames asks, brushing a hand over his chest.

 

“Agrha?” Arthur sputters.

 

“I’m going to catch hell for it at the shoot tomorrow, but I’m sick of waxing it. I think it looks manly. Virile!” Eames says and thumps his fist against his chest.

 

“Shoot?” Arthur chokes out because his brain is not at all equipped to discuss Eames’ chest hair without giving in and touching it.

 

“The photo shoot. Is it not on your itinerary? I was told you’d be there.” Eames frowns, tugging at the hem of Arthur’s shirt.

 

Arthur raises his arms and lets Eames’ pull it off, his brain barely keeping up with the conversation because  _ Eames is taking off Arthur’s clothes! _

 

“Uh, I think that got cut.”

 

“Cut? What do you mean cut?” 

 

“The magazine cut half the stuff we were supposed to do because I’m not a girl,” Arthur explains, his mouth going dry as Eames shoves his pants down his legs. He’s wearing underwear that are too close to the shorts in Arthur’s favourite video to be a coincidence. “Are those…”

 

“What?” Eames shrugs. “I liked them so I took them. Now, what does you not being a girl have to do with anything? And I’m tickled that you’re of the male persuasion, Arthur, just so you know.”

 

“As am I,” Arthur assures him. “But the magazine wanted a girl because girls buy magazines.”

 

“Ah, I see. Hmm. I guess we’re just lucky they didn’t toss out your name when they pulled it out, then.” 

 

Arthur stills, his whole body going cold at the thought of never meeting Eames. “I didn’t even think of that.”

 

“Relax, darling. There are lawyers, and rules, and all that governing these things. They had to give it to you. Now, I’m fairly sure I’ll get arrested if I take off your pants, so if you would be so kind as to do it, I’ll race you to the water.”

 

The competitor in Arthur sparks, and he’s fumbling out of his holey jeans so fast he can’t even pause to be embarrassed about his bright blue gaunch because the second Arthur’s pants hit the sand, Eames is running for the waves.

 

“Cheater!” Arthur screams, following him in. The water is warmer than he thought it would be, but it still knocks the breath out of him when he hits it, diving headfirst into a swell.

 

“All’s fair in sand and surf!” Eames crows, splashing Arthur in the face.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Arthur laughs, trying to avoid Eames’ flailing.

 

“I consider it one of my best traits,” Eames tells him proudly, careening sideways when a strong wave hits, knocking them both over.

 

Arthur breaks the surface, slicking his hair off his face. He waits for Eames to resurface, his grin fading as the seconds tick by. The waves are loud when you’re in them, chaotic and strong at the best of times, and Eames is nowhere to be seen.

 

“Eames?” Arthur shouts. “This isn’t funny.” He waits another ten seconds and is just about to dive beneath the waves to search for an inept popstar, when Eames bursts to the surface, gasping and choking on saltwater.

 

Arthur hauls him in close, his chest to Eames’ back, and drags him onto the sand where Eames collapses on his back to roll around on the beach.

 

“Arthur! Arthur, my darling! You saved me!” Eames cries, throwing his hands up in the air.

 

“You moron! You should have told me you can’t swim!” Arthur spits, chest heaving. He’s so angry he can barely even look at Eames. He stalks up the beach towards the house, kicking up sand and debris as he goes, Eames scrambling to his feet behind him.

 

“Arthur, wait!” Eames grabs his arm, spinning him around. “I can swim.”

 

“Then what the hell was that? I thought, I thought you were in trouble!” He’s nearly hyperventilating, but he can’t help it, there was a minute there where he seriously thought Eames had been pulled out to sea by the undertow.

 

“I was, I lost my bearings when I went under, but you found me, Arthur. I’m fine, I’m safe. It’s okay.” Eames’ hand cups his cheek, pulling him in until their foreheads are touching. “It’s all right.”

 

Arthur’s head slips to Eames’ shoulder and he lets out a wet sob, his face heating with embarrassment. 

 

“Shh, shh, it’s fine, darling. I’m right here,” Eames soothes, carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair and squeezing the back of his neck with every pass. His other hand is like a vise on Arthur’s shoulder, holding him steady as Arthur catches his breath.

 

“I just met you,” Arthur whispers. “I can’t lose you yet.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere, Arthur,” Eames’ lips brush over Arthur’s ear, making him shiver. He leans into Eames, wanting to clutch at any available surface. Instead, he curls his hands into tight fists and nods silently, his nose trailing over Eames’ clavicle.

 

Large hands stroke along his jaw, tilting his head up until he’s starting at Eames, the flush in his cheeks and the water in his eyelashes making him look like some kind of mythical sea creature, come ashore to lure Arthur into the deep, and  _ oh _ , how Arthur longs to follow. He tilts his head a little, a silent question that Eames looks eager to answer, if the way he leans closer is any indication. Arthur closes his eyes and waits.

 

“Okay, boss?” A voice calls from the steps of the house, making Eames jerk away.

 

The interruption has Arthur realizing that he’s soaking wet and nearly naked on a public beach, so he stumbles to his clothes, turning his back to pull sandy jeans over wet legs. He’s got his shirt on by the time Eames reaches the property line and Arthur hurries up the stairs, Hani stepping out of the way as he flees into the darkness of the house.

 

Arthur can hear them talking in low voices, but he doesn’t want to know what they’re saying. It’s about him, that much he’s sure of, and the knowledge that Hani is probably reminding Eames that Arthur is just some teenaged fan makes him burn with shame. He’s more than that now.  _ They _ feel like more than that.

 

There’s a car idling in the unfinished driveway, and Arthur leans against it, hugging himself against the words he’s sure Eames is about to say to him. Words like young, and misunderstood, and confused. He doesn’t want to hear any of it.

 

Hani appears first, not sparing Arthur a glance before sliding into the driver’s seat of the car. Eames follows a minute later, his camera and Arthur’s jacket in his hands. He holds the coat out to Arthur, his face carefully blank. Arthur takes it, trying his best to smooth out his movements, like he’s not hurt by Eames’ change of heart.

 

“Hey,” Eames says softly as Arthur reaches for the car door.

 

Arthur stills, but doesn’t turn around, doesn’t speak because he knows his voice will betray him.

 

“Arthur,” Eames turns him, hands on Arthur’s waist as he pushes him against the car. “Don’t leave me like this.”

 

Arthur presses his lips together, unable to look at Eames directly.

 

“Darling,  _ please _ .”

 

“What do you want?” Arthur asks, his voice breaking.

 

Eames blinks in surprise. “Long term? More than I deserve. But right now, I’d really like to kiss you.”

 

Arthur’s lips trembles, but he can’t fight a smile because that is so far from what he expected Eames to say it may as well have been said in a foreign language.

 

“Won’t you get in trouble for that?” he whispers, watching Eames’ lips as he shifts closer.

 

“I don’t care. All that matters is if you want me to.”

 

Arthur laughs like that’s the stupidest question he’s ever heard and presses his lips to Eames’. Eames fingers go tight on his hips, but the kiss stays chaste, just a soft press of lips, once, twice, and once more for luck, and then Eames is pulling away, the grin on his face bright enough to light up the night.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“I can’t believe you just thanked me for kissing you,” Arthur teases, feeling lighter than air.

 

“I really, really appreciate it,” Eames says, leaning in to kiss him again, a little harder, a little longer.

 

Arthur’s panting when they stop and he has to bite his cheek to stop himself from grinning like an idiot.

 

“Your chaperone is looking for you, so you need to get back. Apparently they don’t consider my guided tour adequate to cover their insurance,” Eames says derisively.

 

“You took me to a gay bar on a speeding motorcycle, then nearly drowned me when I had to save your ass from a little wave. Not to mention we were practically skinny dipping.”

 

“Yeah, but it was only practically,” Eames says, kissing Arthur through his grin. “Come to my shoot tomorrow. It’ll be fun.”

 

“I’m pretty sure I have to do what they say tomorrow.” Arthur laments.

 

“Oh, tosh. I’m the popstar here, aren’t I? I’ll throw a fit and they’ll have to bring you.”

 

“I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

 

Eames drags his nose along Arthur jaw and Arthur groans. “It’s already done, darling, don’t fight the power of Eames.”

 

Arthur laughs. “The power of Eames, huh?”

 

“I’m devastating,” Eames assures him.

 

“Completely,” Arthur agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaunch are briefs. Tighty-whities. Banana hammocks.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knock, knock. Housekeeping!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter to bridge from the last one into the next. Tomorrow is my birthday, so I'm hoping to post the next chapter as a gift to you all!

Arthur’s face falls when he opens the door the next morning and Cora is standing with her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at him like he’s something foul she just stepped in.

 

“Are you trying to get me fired?” She pushes past him into the room, flicking the light on in the bathroom and checking the closets.

 

“Um, no?” Arthur rubs sleep out of his eye with the heel of his hand and sits on the end of the bed.

 

“Are we alone in here?” She demands.

 

Arthur looks around in confusion. “Who else would there be?”

 

“Don’t act dumb, kid. You know who I’m talking about.”

 

“Oh, um, no, he’s not here.” Arthur flushes and pulls the comforter from underneath him, draping it over his shoulders like it will protect him from Cora’s wrath.

 

“You better pray he’s where he’s supposed to be right now and not sleeping off some twink hangover.”

 

“I’m not a twink,” Arthur protests once again, cowering a little when Cora’s nostrils flare.

 

“Where the hell were you last night? You guide had to have management open the door because she was worried you’d slipped in the shower and died. I swear to god, I wish it  _ had _ been that because it would have been less of a fucking PR nightmare!”

 

“What was I supposed to do? He showed up at my door, Cora! He’s  _ Eames _ !” Arthur cries, flopping back on the bed.

 

Cora takes a deep breath and sits beside him, brushing hair off Arthur’s forehead with a terrifyingly long red fingernail. “I need to ask you if anything inappropriate happened last night, Arthur.”

 

Arthur flushes, thinking of Eames on the beach, Eames taking his picture, sharing his secrets, pushing Arthur against the car and kissing him.

“No,” he sqwaks.

 

Cora closes her eyes and presses her lips together. “Did Eames do anything to make you feel uncomfortable? Did he pressure you into doing anything?”

 

Arthur frowns and sits up, the comforter slipping off his shoulders. “What are you talking about, why are you asking me that?”

 

“Because I have to, Arthur. Eames is a...special case.”

 

_ Because they know he’s not straight _ , Arthur thinks to himself, anger flushing through him.

 

“Eames was a perfect gentleman. We went for dinner and a ride on his bike. Then I came back. That’s all,” he lies. It’s easier than lying to his grandparents and he wonders if it’s because it feels like there’s more at stake.

 

Cora raises her eyebrow. “You disappeared for nine hours with an international popstar, kid. You expect me to believe that’s all that happened?” 

 

“I guess you’re just going to have to trust me,” Arthur smirks.

 

Cora shakes her head, but she seems relieved, so Arthur takes it as a win.

 

“So, what’s on the agenda today?” Arthur asks, smiling serenely.

 

Cora’s eyes narrow. “You’re going to be just as much trouble as he is, aren’t you?”

 

“We’re a matched set,” Arthur tells her.

 

Cora rolls her eyes and moves around the bed to the phone. “Get in the shower, I’m ordering you breakfast. You were supposed to go on a tour of the record company, but  _ his highness _ has insisted you’re needed at his photoshoot.”

 

“Oh, really?” Arthur asks, trying and failing to hide his excitement. “How interesting.”

 

“We’re leaving in twenty-five minutes whether you still smell like smoke and rotting seaweed, or not.” Cora turns her back to him and presses the button for room service. Arthur bites his lips through his grin and waits to do his happy dance until the bathroom door is safely closed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bearskin rug. You've been warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This photoshoot is going to last much longer than I thought because FEELINGS! So here's the first chapter. I will try and have another out later tonight. Smooches!

Cora takes him to a house in West Hollywood that Arthur’s pretty sure is bigger than his high school back home. It’s massive and tacky, with giant columns out from and mostly naked statues dotting the expansive front lawn. Hani is waiting for them at the door. He nods at Cora and leads the way into the house. 

 

Arthur searches the mostly empty rooms, shaking his head at the amount of gold leaf and floral patterned wallpaper. It was true what they say, money can’t buy class. At the back of the house, in what Arthur supposes serves as a ballroom, there’s a flurry of activity. Harried people are running around with clipboards and camera equipment, setting up lights, and gathering up clothing that’s been piled on the floor.

 

“How is he this morning?” Cora asks a young man she stops from flitting past them. 

 

“Which one?” he guys asks, looking a little scared.

 

“Eames,” she says impatiently.

 

“Oh. Picky.” The guy scuttles away and Arthur catches Hani’s smirk from the corner of his eye.

 

“Just perfect,” Cora grits out. 

 

Raised voices turn into an argument to their left and a camera lense is thrown across the room, the glass shattering when it hits the floor and rolls to a stop at Arthur’s feet. A tall Japanese man in a maroon smoking jacket and a gold cravat breaks away from the fight and stalks across the room towards them.

 

“You!” he shouts, pointing at Arthur.

 

Arthur looks to Cora, but she looks as shocked as he is, and Hani is an ever-still mountain, as always.

 

“Who are you?” the man demands, coming to a stop much closer than Arthur is comfortable with.

 

“Um, Arthur?” he says, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible.

 

The man grabs Arthur roughly by the chin, tilting his face this way and that while he frowns down at him.

 

“You’re exquisite,” the man concludes. “Colleen! Dress him!”

 

“No, no, no,” Cora protests. “We are so not covered for that.”

 

The man raises his eyebrow and glares at her.

 

“I’m sure you have plenty of pretty young things to photograph, this one belongs to Eames.”

 

Arthur flushes at the insinuation, but the man nods, giving Arthur another once over before walking back to the group fussing over the equipment.

 

“Who is that?” Arthur whispers.

 

“Saito, one of the best fashion photographers in the business. I have no idea how Eames got him for this project. Rumour has it it involved a fully loaded shotgun and a half peeled kumquat. Come on, I’ll take you to Eames.”

 

Arthur follows closely, Hani taking up the lead as they head towards small sets that have been constructed around the expansive room. Arthur’s eyes nearly pop out of his head when he turns the corner to find Eames sprawled naked on a bearskin rug in front of a roaring fire. He’s laying on his side, propped on his elbow with his ankles crossed and nothing but a stuffed bear covering his crotch.

 

His eyes light up when he sees them, zeroing in on Arthur immediately. “Arthur!” he cries, flinging his arms wide, taking the bear with him.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Cora mutters as Arthur nearly faints. 

 

Eames looks down at himself and chuckles, replacing the bear and shrugging. “Sorry ‘bout that, love.”

 

“And here I thought I’d have to remind you to keep it in your pants,” Cora says, hands on her hips. 

 

“And yet again I’ve circumvented the need by not wearing any. You’re welcome! I just love making your job easier, duckling.” Eames’ smile is sharp until his eyes drift back over to Arthur. “Have I offended your delicate sensibilities, Arthur?”

 

Arthur clears his throat and clings to his sanity. “Offended, or underwhelmed?”

 

Eames throws his head back and laughs and even Cora cracks a smile.

 

“Matched set, huh?” Cora sighs.

 

Arthur shrugs helplessly.

 

“Fine, whatever, I’m trusting you,” she pokes Arthur painfully in the chest, then turns her finger on Eames. “And you, behave. Saito’s spotted him so you’d better keep him on a short leash. I swear to god, if you cause me any more trouble, I’m going to cut your balls off and feed them to you.” Cora turns on her heel and stomps off, her shoes clicking on the marble floor.

 

“Those are very vague parameters for such a serious threat!” Eames calls after her, indignant until she’s out of the room and then he’s grinning up at Arthur again. “Darling,” he purrs, sounding impossibly fond, and Arthur knows his blush is right up to his hairline because Eames looks pleased as punch.

 

“Careful, that bear isn’t very big.” Hani warns.

 

“Oh, hush, you! Arthur, my dear, please sit and watch a master at work.”

 

“Oh, I’ve already met Saito,” Arthur tells him, grinning. Now that he has all of Eames’ attention, it’s easier to fall back into their easy banter.

 

“You little shite. Sit down and shut up before I throw my bear at you.” Eames is laughing, his eyes sparkling like Arthur’s the best thing he’s seen all day, but he sobers a little when Saito appears.

 

“We’re not shooting that kind of calendar, Eames,” Saito says, his lips quirking. There’s a beauty mark drawn high on Saito’s cheekbone and he’s wearing more makeup than the Madonna wannabes at home, but somehow, Arthur thinks it suits him. There seems to be nothing false about the way Saito presents himself, no mask separating his public and personal persona. He looks just as at home in his eyeliner and blue velvet britches as Arthur is in his t-shirts and jeans, and Arthur’s kind of in awe of him.

 

“Shame,” Eames says. “It would fly off the shelves.”

 

“I would need a wider lens.”

 

Eames growls. “That’s not the song you were singing in Antigua.”

 

Arthur’s smile slips a little, but he focuses on the tall chair Hani has brought him and climbs onto the seat.

 

“Antigua was,” Saito cocks his hip and looks at the ceiling. “Another time and another place. An alternate dimension.”

 

“So you’re saying being with me is out of this world?” Eames leers and Arthur’s stomach sours.

 

“I believe the term is ‘lay back and think of England’,” Saito tells him, his finger hitting the shutted repeatedly as Eames laughs.

 

Arthur’s clenching his hands together between his knees and he feels like he wants the earth to open up and swallow him whole. This isn’t his Eames, this is the other guy. The one who flirts with everything that moves and laughs too loud, too long, too wrong. Arthur’s starting to really fucking hate this guy.

 

Eames moves around on the rug as Saito works, going from serious and sultry to cocky, to coy. With each new pose Arthur grows more and more nauseated. It’s not that he didn’t know this was part of Eames’ job, but he hates bearing witness to it. His Eames is so open and honest, eager and touchable, and Arthur can practically feel the want in him when they touch. But the man on the bearskin is rug is untouchable. Nothing he says is real. Nothing he touches grows warm from his affection, and it makes Arthur want to cry. How does he stand it, he wonders. How does this Eames get through the day and not feel like he’s a thousand miles away from anyone who knows him. With a jolt, Arthur realizes that he doesn’t. 

 

Eames smiles up at him then, his true smile breaking through the mask and warming Arthur all the way down to his toes. Arthur nods and returns the smile because he finally understands that there aren’t two different Eames’. They’re the same person, and they both need someone like Arthur.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fasten your seat belts, that photo shoot continues!

The shoot gets more and more ridiculous with every set they move to. The bearskin rug was for February’s picture, Eames informs him, and doesn’t Arthur think the real fire was a nice touch?

 

“It made you kind of sweaty,” Arthur tells him honestly.

 

“Yes, darling, but what was I doing to get that sweaty?” Eames waggles his eyebrows and Arthur nearly hurts himself rolling his eyes. 

 

“You were laying in front of a roaring fire.”

 

“You’re much more practical than the average fan, Arthur. I can’t fool you.”

 

Arthur flushes a little at the compliment. “I thought that was a good thing.”

 

“Oh, it is,” Eames assures him with a fond grin. “You’re the bee’s knees, pet.”

 

They shoot out of order, but Arthur can’t find a pattern in the months except that those sets are ready to go and Eames keeps adding to how much clothing he’s wearing in each. At least until he starts to take it all off again. 

 

September has Eames leaning against a marble pillar in nothing but skakeskin pants and bare feet. His hair is tousled and the lace-up fly of the pants are opened so low, there’s no way the camera isn’t picking up the delicate curls peeking out.

 

“It’s artistic, darling.”

 

“It’s pornographic.”

 

“If you live in a world where pornography isn’t ever artistic, I fear for you, Arthur.”

 

They shoot November outside beside the pool. A motorcycle is parked in the shade under some palm trees and Eames looks perfectly at home perched on it wearing jeans, a white tank top, and a leather jacket. Reflective aviator sunglasses block his expressive eyes, but he somehow manages to convey a perfect amount of cockiness through the toothpick he’s playing with. Arthur watches as he rolls it from one side of his perfect mouth to the other, his tongue keeping manipulating the wood in a way that has Arthur adjusting himself behind a potted fern. When that shoot is done and Eames slips the toothpick into Arthur’s mouth, he nearly chokes on it within the first minute, much to Eames’ amusement.

 

By the time Eames walks away from wardrobe for August’s set, Arthur’s convinced this whole calendar is designed to drive him insane. When he voices this outloud, Saito laughs.

 

“Of course it is, Arthur. You and millions of fans who will buy it and pay his bills.”

 

“Well?” Eames asks, turning in a small circle. He’s dressed completely in white linen and the fabric is so fine it’s nearly see-thru. 

 

“What’s the theme for this one?” Arthur asks, eyeing him critically and trying to keep his eyes off the darker section of Eames’ crotch and chest where his hair is thickest and casts a shadow through the linen.

 

“Wearing white before labour day,” Eames says proudly.

 

“That’s not a theme.”

 

“Of course it is!” Eames protests.

 

Arthur shakes his head. “It’s really not. Who came up with these?”

 

“It’s not my fault there are no good holidays in August,” Eames grumbles.

 

“Victory day is in August. So is National Dog Day,” Arthur offers and Eames lights up.

 

“National Dog Day? Oh! Let’s do that! Someone find me a dog!” Eames shouts, bouncing around the room to pester anyone who makes the mistake of looking his way.

 

They find Eames a dog, one of the neighbours’ pets, apparently, but he refuses to change his clothes. He poses with the Irish Setter a hundred different times, petting and rolling around on the floor with the large dog. When Eames crouches down to scratch the dog’s ears, the look of adoration and glee on his face makes Arthur’s heart melt. 

 

“I’ve made this worse, haven’t I?” he asks.

 

Saito hums from behind his camera. “They’re going to eat it up.”

 

Arthur sighs and tries to commit to memory the picture of Eames laying on the floor, wrestling the dog, because that’s the real Eames down there, not Popstar Eames. And as soon as people get a taste of him, they’re going to be starving for more.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is all just basically foreplay now, let's be honest.

Arthur chokes on his water when Eames appears beside him in a full tux, perfectly coiffed, and looking like he badly needs to be messed. 

 

“You look good,” he manages.

 

Eames raises and eyebrow and smirks. “Is that how I look? Hmm, I was going for better than ‘good’.”

 

“I mean, you always look good, not just now. Um, I don’t need you in a tux to think that.”

 

“No? What’s been your favourite look so far, pet?” Eames leans into him a little, his arm pressing against Arthur’s where it’s resting on the arm of the chair.

 

“I liked what you wore yesterday, when we first met. It seemed more you.”

 

Eames gives him a look of surprise. “Was it only yesterday that we met? Feels longer,” he studies Arthur’s face for a minute before smiling rakishly. “‘S fun to dress up a little, though. Pretend to be something else for a while. Could do you some good, Arthur.”

 

“Oh no, I’m just fine right here,” Arthur laughs nervously. He’s barely comfortable in his own skin, being someone else sounds terrifying.

 

“Do it for me? I promise it’ll be fun. If you’re uncomfortable, we’ll stop. I won’t let Saito take a single picture.”

 

“Eames, I’m not really...like this,” he gestures at the lights, and the props, and the chaos surrounding them. “I don’t pretend as well as you do.”

 

“You don’t have to pretend, Arthur, that’s the point. Right here, right now, you don’t have to pretend to anything other than exactly who you are. Young, gorgeous, gay, soon-to-be aeronautical engineer Arthur. But probably with more hair gel and eyeliner than you’re used to.” Eames grins at Arthur’s laughter.

 

“You really want me to do this?” Arthur asks, unable to stop himself from touching the perfect pleats of Eames’ dress shirt.

 

“I do, but not if you don’t want to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Eames says, sincerely, putting his hand over Arthur’s.

 

Arthur frowns. “You didn’t think you naked on a bearskin rug would make me uncomfortable?”

 

Eames rolls his eyes and moves closer, slotting himself between Arthur’s knees. “You like being uncomfortable with  _ me _ , I never want you to be uncomfortable with  _ you _ .”

 

Arthur’s heart skips in his chest, and he’s in trouble now, he knows, because this isn’t the guy from the posters. The one he jacks off to on the tv, this Eames, this honest, eager, genuine Eames is a whole new beast, and Arthur is falling fast. 

 

“Okay,” he whispers.

 

Eames grins and pecks him on the lips. “Excellent! Someone from wardrobe will sort you out, I know exactly which photo I want you in.”

 

Arthur blinks in confusion, but Eames is already bounding across the ballroom to where there are balloons and champagne waiting for his manufactured New Year’s glee. By the time they’re done, Eames’ tux is in artistic disarray and Arthur’s being herded towards the corner where the clothing racks are.

 

Eames appears while they’re taking Arthur’s measurements, jumping quickly behind the privacy screen and emerging in a ridiculous leprechaun costume.

 

“You’re junk is a pot of gold,” Arthur informs him.

 

“You bet it is!” Eames winks and skips off.

 

Arthur looks down at the young woman measuring his inseam.

 

“He says he’s Irish, so it’s not offensive,” she says with a shrug.

 

Arthur just shakes his head and gives in. They’re shooting January next, and he can’t deny he’s liking what he sees. The head of wardrobe, Colleen, is pulling heavily embroidered jackets out of garment bags, and her assistants are steaming them, one embellishment at a time. Arthur balks a little when they hand him a pair of very tight leather pants and tell him to lose his tighty-whities, but he complies, moving behind the screen with care. 

 

Eames raps on the wooden frame before poking his head around the screen and whistling lowly.

 

“Why, Arthur, don’t you look delectable.”

 

“They’re not too tight?” Arthur asks, trying not to fidget. The leather is soft and warm, but it clings to him like a second skin.

 

“Turn around, let me see,” Eames says seriously, making a circling motion with his finger.

 

Arthur complies, spreading his arms and shuffling around. When he faces Eames, there’s colour in his cheeks, and he’s chewing on his bottom lip. Eames clears his throat and shakes his head.

 

“Arthur, I am only telling this because I care about you. You absolutely cannot wear those pants beyond this screen.”

 

“Why? Do I look terrible?” Arthur asks, embarrassment creeping through him.

 

“Gods, no,” Eames breathes, moving quickly and backing Arthur against the wall. “But I will be completely indecent if I have to watch you pose in those. Darling, I’m already fit to burst and I haven’t even put my hands on you yet.”

 

“Yet?” Arthur echoes, hopefully.

 

“We’re on a schedule, gentleman!” Colleen’s voice calls impatiently from beyond the screen.

 

Eames ducks his head and drags his teeth over Arthur’s neck, making him shiver. There’s over two dozen people in the room with them, and a plastic pot of gold grinding painfully into his leg, but all Arthur wants to do is stay exactly where he is, boxed in and turned on with Eames.

 

“You’re keeping those trousers if I have to steal them for you myself,” Eames growls, nipping Arthur’s shoulder before backing off. 

 

“I might need help getting them off,” Arthur tells him coyly, looking up at Eames from beneath his lashes.

 

Eames groans and shakes his head, giving Arthur a look filled with want. “I may not survive you, darling.”

 

Arthur cocks his head to the side and smiles. “But what a way to go.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for @oceaxe and her love of Adam Ant. It kicked my ass for months, but I am finally happy with it. Mostly.

“Tell me how dashing I look, darling.” Eames says arrogantly, throwing his head back.

 

Arthur looks him over, from his knee-high black boots, to the heavy rope braiding of his jacket. Over the high lace collar of his shirt and onto his coiffed and curled hair. “You look like a demented Ichabod Crane. I look fantastic, though.”

 

Eames growls and pulls Arthur closer by the hips. “Perfectly delectable, pet. What say you we run away and you show me your headless horseman?”

 

“That is the worst innuendo I have ever heard,” Arthur tells him, still trying to get used to being manhandled by this version of Eames. He’s forward and brash, but somehow more distant as well. It makes Arthur’s head spin.

 

“Then clearly we haven’t spent enough time together, Arthur. I can do much worse.”

 

Arthur scoffs. “I doubt it.”

 

Eames leans in close, his lips grazing the shell of Arthur’s ear. “I’d like to explore your Sleepy Hollow.”

 

Arthur nods. “Forgive me for doubting you. I will not make that mistake again.”

 

“All I ask for is the appreciation I’m due,” Eames says, haughtily.

 

“Gentleman, we’re losing the light,” Saito drawls. 

 

Eames lets Arthur go and goes back to his mark. They’re outside on the front lawn, spaced out among the statues. There are three other guys out there with them, all made up in the same vein with scarves, and velvet, and more make-up than Arthur knew could be worn at once. Eames has two blue streaks of pain over his left cheekbone and cat-eye eyeliner. His lipstick is light, but glossy, taking his lips from lush to obscene. It’s a different look for him, but one that Arthur is strangely attracted to. He’s a little more feminine than usual, but not girly. Somehow soft and sharp all at the same time, and it’s awakening a hunger in Arthur he didn’t know he possessed.

 

Arthur’s outfit isn’t very different, with his leather pants and boots, and the navy jacket, a large white panel buttoned to the front, keeping it closed over his bare chest. He has a shiny black top hat cocked carefully on his head, a red feather jauntily sticking out of the satin band around it. Saito himself placed Arthur’s beauty mark. It’s mirror’s his own, high on his cheekbone so it doesn’t distract from Arthur’s dimples and he feels a strange sense of kinship and acceptance from the man. Like maybe, if Arthur were actually part of this world, they could be friends.

 

Saito’s people pose them in the front yard, amongst the semi-nude statues. One of the guys is draped over the back of a large centaur while another one cups the breast of an armless stone woman. They look pouty and artfully pretty and Arthur is starting to wonder how he fits in when Eames’ arm snakes around his waist and his lips brush Arthur’s temple.

 

“Doing alright?” Eames asks quietly as Saito fusses with the lighting.

 

“A little nervous. I don’t really fit in here,” Arthur admits, clenching his fists.

 

Eames puts his hands on Arthur’s shoulders and turns him so they’re face to face. There’s a fierceness and intensity in Eames’ eyes that Arthur’s never seen and finds a little shocking. It’s not that he thought Eames incapable of being this serious, he just now knows a little about how much Eames tries to hide it from the people around him. His persona is loose and carefree, and Arthur thinks very few people really know how hard Eames works at maintaining that.

 

“Do you trust me, Arthur?”

 

“Yes,” Arthur answers immediately and is rewarded with a look of pride flashing over Eames’ face.

 

“Then trust me when I tell you I’m not going to let you fail at this. If you reach deep into yourself and let out the Arthur I know is hiding in there, the one who can’t show himself on the streets of Winslow, Arizona, the one who is afraid of how his people will react, of what his grandparents will say, the one who is still content with being hidden away, who might always be, if you let him out, just a little bit, you will feel so free, darling. Just for a few minutes, let him play at being the full-time Arthur.”

 

Arthur lets out a shaky breath. He can feel that Arthur inside him, he can, but he honestly doesn’t know if he’s ready to be that, even for Eames. “What if he doesn’t want to go back in?”

 

Eames’ eyes go soft and he brushes his fingers up Arthur’s neck. “Then I’ll be right here to help you figure it out. I don’t meant to sound trite, but it’s just a picture. Let him out and we’ll capture him in a photo. That way, even if he never again sees the light of day, you’ll have the reminder that he’s a part of you.”

 

“Do you really expect me to keep your calendar for the rest of my life?” Arthur asks with a weak smile.

 

Eames huffs a laugh. “Well, you could always keep me instead.”

 

“Gentlemen, we’re starting,” Saito interrupts and Eames backs away. 

 

Arthur ducks his head to hide his blush. Eames couldn’t have meant that, there’s no way. It was a joke. Something to distract Arthur from his self-doubt. Arthur takes his place amongst the statues and sneaks a look at Eames. He’s starting at Arthur, an open, raw look in his eyes, but as soon as Saito’s flash goes off, the look is gone and the other Eames is back, looking cool and smug as he preens for the camera. 

 

Arthur takes a steadying breath and lets his body relax. He tries to channel his inner Arthur, his shoulders dropping and his hips cocked forward. A funny thing happens then. With every flash of lights, every snick of Saito’s camera, a little more of  _ that _ Arthur appears. He’s pouty, and bright, and not afraid to hang off Eames when the other man beckons him closer. There’s loud music playing, something punk and British, and Arthur can’t hear anything other than his own heartbeat, but he thinks maybe he understands how Eames can switch so easily between one personalities. It’s intoxicating, feeling like there’s no one to judge him, no one to tell him he can’t be like this. There’s only Eames, and the other young men, who all seem to occupy the same space in this microcosm of sexual aggression and freedom.

 

Arthur feels like there’s nothing beyond Saito’s lense, no world outside the dark garden where one of the models has left lipstick marks on the centaur and Eames is staring at him like Arthur’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen. He tries to hold onto the moment, because despite the high he’s feeling now, he knows a crash is coming. When the lights go out and the makeup is washed off, he’ll be back to fighting between who he is and who he wants to be. But for now, he’ll take this and relish it, and later, he’ll let Eames know just how thankful he is for allowing him this flash of abandon.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is selfish, and ridiculous, and written completely to please myself.

Arthur’s exhausted by the time he’s changed and had something to eat, but Eames is still bouncing around, now dressed in star spangled booty shorts and holding sparklers for July’s picture. He has no idea how Eames is still going after such a long day and with three more sets to go. He’s like the energizer bunny. Arthur wonders briefly how that energy would transition to his hotel room, then shakes himself because he’s pretty sure Eames is going to need to sleep for three days after this and he shouldn’t get his hopes up.

 

Next is June and Eames is spread out on a reclining lawn chair in shorts so small they should be illegal. He’s soaking wet from a dip in the pool, and the smirk on his face says he knows exactly what everyone looking at the picture is thinking. Arthur knows this because he’s thinking it to. He wants to lick the water from Eames’ thighs and see how much of his tongue he can fit under those tiny, little spandex shorts.

 

“You’re drooling,” Saito murmurs, walking past.

 

Arthur wipes his mouth and Saito laughs, shaking his head and adjusting a light. The set is supposed to be moonlit, but it apparently takes a lot of equipment to accomplish that, even outside, under the moon. Arthur sinks back in his chair, sipping from his bottle of water and watching Eames eye-fuck the camera and grope himself.

 

“Hey,” Colleen says, appearing at his side. “Come with me for a minute.”

 

“I don’t think I’m up for any more posing,” Arthur admits.

 

“This is something else, come on.” She walks away and Arthur steals one last glance at Eames before stumbling after her.

 

“Pick something for him,” Colleen tells him when they get to the wardrobe corner.

 

“Huh?”

 

“He scrapped the next set, says he wants you to pick his outfit.”

 

Arthur gapes. “Why?”

 

“Because he loves to waste money and drive us all insane, how should I know? I guess the two thousand dollar gold lamé jumpsuit he  _ had to have _ isn’t what he wants anymore. So go for it, what do you want to see him in? What Eames is your dream man?” Colleen crosses her arms and yawns loudly.

 

Arthur stares at the racks, thinking about the last two days and the many versions of Eames he’s met. He knows which is his favourite, but he’s not sure if he wants to share him any more than he already has. He knows Eames needs to stay untouchable to stay sane in all this chaos, but as a fan, as a teenage boy squirreling away every interview and magazine photo he can get his hands on, he’d appreciate if Eames didn’t always feel quite so far above him. If he were more...attainable.

 

He pulls a pair of acid wash jeans and a sleeveless mesh shirt and tells the makeup and hair people to keep is simple, make Eames look like he’s just hanging out. Sure, the jeans probably cost more than Arthur makes in a year, but they’re still just jeans. 

 

When Eames walks into the entry of the house, he looks soft, relaxed, and artfully disheveled. Arthur grins, pleased his idea worked out so well.

 

“This is how you like me, huh?” Eames teases.

 

“This is how your fans want to see you,” Arthur assures him.

 

“And you?”

 

“And me,” he admits. 

 

“Then I live to please,” Eames tells him, squeezing his hand and moving to lounge on the stairs. He’s more subdued than before and Arthur can see the cracks in his veneer. He looks real like this, like a guy you might run into at the mall, or the movies. He looks like a guy you could take home.

 

Something sharp and hot flares in Arthur’s chest because he’ll never have that. He’s going back tomorrow, and even if Eames wanted to be with him long term, which Arthur knows is unlikely, it would be impossible. Arthur’s never going to be able to bring him home and introduce him to his grandparents. Never going to be able to walk down the street and hold Eames’ hand. It wouldn’t work for either of them right now. 

 

He musters a smile for Eames, but his fury burns inside him because there’s nothing he can do about any of it. He has no intention of coming out and Eames himself said it’s impossible for him to do it and keep his music career. It’s all or nothing and Arthur can’t fool himself into believing he’s worth Eames throwing it all away. He’s just a seventeen year old kid with a fanboy crush.

 

“Darling?” Eames brushes a hand down Arthur’s back, startling him out of his reverie. 

 

“Done already?” Arthur asks, doing his best to keep his voice from trembling.

 

“It was a quick one, thanks to your expertise,” Eames smiles. “Are you tired?”

 

“Exhausted,” Arthur admits with a small sigh. “I don’t know how you’re still standing.”

 

“Well, the coke helps.”

 

Arthur’s face must do something extraordinary because Eames laughs so hard he doubles over. 

 

“Oh my god, Arthur, I was kidding! Darling, your face!” Eames gasps.

 

“That wasn’t funny, asshole.” Arthur crosses his arms and glares.

 

“The shock and righteous indignation! The utter disdain! Totally worth the scowl you’re giving me now,” Eames snorts.

 

“I’m going to kick you, we’ll see how hard you’re laughing then.”

 

“Oh, darling, don’t be mad. I told you before, I’m clean and sober. This is just natural adrenaline, the camera is my drug.”

 

“Pretty sure the sound of your own voice is your drug of choice. Or maybe your reflection in the mirror,” Arthur grouses.

 

Eames wraps his arms around him and Arthur slumps into the hug, ready to go back to his hotel and pass out.

 

“Do you want to go back? We only have one session left, but you can duck out early. Or I can find you a quiet place to nap! The next one is going to take some time, let’s get you something to eat and someplace to rest.” Eames pats him gently, swaying them back and forth.

 

“I ate, and sleep sounds amazing, but I don’t want to miss anything.”

 

“You won’t I promise,” Eames assures him, leading him to a door behind the staircase. “Hair and makeup will take at least an hour, so you sleep and I’ll have someone fetch you when we’re ready to shoot.”

 

“And then?” Arthur asks.

 

Eames’ smile is sweet and light. “And then we’ll spend time together. Just me and you, I promise.”

 

The room beyond the door is a small office with where furniture from the other rooms has been moved to make room for the photo shoot. There’s a small sofa pushed to one side and Arthur stares at it longingly. Eames cups his cheek and kisses his forehead, letting his lips linger while Arthur’s breath speeds up. He whimpers softly when Eames backs away.

 

“Sleep, and then we’ll go,” Eames tells him and all Arthur can do is obey, folding himself onto the loveseat and falling asleep before the door clicks shut.

 

When a PA wakes him an hour later, he feels like he barely had a chance to close his eyes, but he drags himself up, stretching out the kinks from the couch, and going to find Eames. The room has been cleared, except for the last set, which is mostly just fog and multicoloured shafts of light crisscrossing the stage. There’s a huge pink star in the centre, outlined in neon, and Arthur can’t help but think he’s seen something like this before.

 

“What month is this?” he asks one of the lighting assistants.

 

“October,” he says. “Halloween.”

 

“Is Arthur here?” Eames’ voice calls from behind a partition.

 

“I’m here,” Arthur answers. “What have you done this time, you madman?”

 

Arthur’s fairly sure his jaw actually hits the floor when Eames walks out because there’s a sudden ache just in front of his ears and he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. Eames is dressed in a short, shimmering, pink dress, a slit straight up the side, showing off the white tights he’s wearing and drawing the eye to the wide, gold tassel belt hanging off his hip. The dress is a deep vee, and Arthur has no idea how they’ve done it, but Eames has breasts. Real-looking, hairless, perky breasts, and enough cleavage he’s sure he’ll go blind if he stares at it for too long.

 

Dramatic blue and pink eyeshadow frames his eyes in blocky swatches, small rhinestones glittering beside each one, and on his head is a shaggy pink and white streaked wig, falling just past his shoulders and bouncing with every click of his gold stilettos.

 

“Well, what do you think?” Eames asks, throwing his hair over his shoulder and showing off him blinking starburst earrings.

 

“I think I’m very confused,” Arthur says slowly.

 

“I’m Jem,” Eames clarifies.

 

“I know, and you look, um, amazing. Which is why I’m confused. Can I touch your boobs?”

 

“Of course!” Eames grabs Arthur’s hand and presses it to his chest. “Aren’t they grand?”

 

“I’m so confused,” Arthur whispers, a little frantic. 

 

Eames laughs. “Why?”

 

“Because you look really, really hot,” Arthur admits in a whisper. “Like, it’s doing things to me. But I don’t like girls.”

 

Eames leans in to whisper back, looming over Arthur in his heels. “I’m not a girl, Arthur, I’m just wearing a dress.”

 

“You have boobs,” Arthur points out.

 

“And a penis,” Eames counters.

 

“Prove it.”

 

Eames throws his head back and laughs. “Keep feeling me up like you are and I won’t be able to hide it.”

 

“I’m so confused,” he repeats.

 

“I know, darling, I know. I’ll explain it to you later, but right now we need to get finished so I can spirit you away and have you all to myself.”

 

The other models come trouncing out, all decked out as the Holograms and Arthur chokes a little when one of them winks at him.

  
“I’m so confused,” he says again as  _ Glitter and Gold _ starts pounding through the speakers.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, back at the hotel...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't update in FOREVER and I am dreadfully sorry! I promise I have not abandoned this fic, I just haven't had time for it. That changes now! Hopefully.
> 
> This chapter is sappy and a little angsty, but what else did you expect from me?

 

 

The ride back to the hotel is quiet and dark, the streetlights speeding in flashes and lighting up Eames’ still form where he’s slumped against Arthur. His hair is still damp from the shower, but Arthur can still smell the makeup Eames missed along his hairline. 

 

Hani drops them off by the kitchen doors, grunting a goodnight as Eames takes Arthur’s hand and stumbles out of the car. The hotel manager is waiting for them, her tight smile never shifting as she leads them into a service elevator and up to the penthouse suite. Arthur’s backpack is sitting on the circular couch in the sunken living room and he spares a horrified thought for the box of condoms they no doubt uncovered. He wonders if they took them, or if the box is sitting in his bag, a silent case of prepackaged what ifs.

 

“Your management requested your guest be upgraded due to...privacy concerns,” the woman tells them, her eyes cutting from Eames to Arthur. “You’re the only ones on this floor.”

 

Arthur’s face heats up and Eames glares at her. “Excellent, I’ll be sure to mention how  _ hospitable _ you lot are the next time I’m interviewed by Playboy. Now, get out.”

 

The moment the door closes, Eames collapses on the couch with a groan. 

 

“It’s exhausting being you, isn't it?” Arthur asks, kneeling beside him.

 

Eames smiles with his eyes closed, patting Arthur on the thigh. “Having you there helped me stay focused. The days are usually longer than this and Hani has had to carry me to my room more than once.”

 

“Pretty sure I’ve seen those pictures in the Inquirer,” Arthur tells him, running his fingers through Eames’ hair, still giddy that it’s something he can just do. What is his life right now? “Might be why people ask if you’re ever sober.”

 

“Debbie Gibson doesn’t get treated like this,” Eames complains, leaning into Arthur’s touch.

 

“Debbie Gibson is a national treasure.”

 

Eames’ eyes fly open and he gasps. “Are you implying I’m not?”

 

“You’re British,” Arthur points out. 

 

Eames pouts. “So what? I want to be a treasure, too.”

 

“You can be an Arthurian treasure, if you like,” he offers quietly, feeling sappy and foolish as soon as the words are out.

 

Eames’ eyes go soft and his gives Arthur his secret smile. “ _ Darling _ ,”

 

“Are you hungry?” Arthur blurts, jumping to his feet and fumbling through the hotel information binder on the coffee table. “I feel like we haven’t eaten in days.”

 

Eames is still grinning at him, but it’s less affected and more amused, and Arthur relaxes a little. He’s still in a hotel room with Eames, so there’s no way he’s not on the knife’s edge of anticipation and nerves, but he can deal a lot easier with a teasing Eames than with a sentimental one. He’s leaving tomorrow and he can’t afford to hope for more than this weekend.

 

“Famished,” Eames agrees. “Let’s order everything on the menu and eat on the bed in our pants while watching the worst pay per view has to offer.”

 

“Eames bought me ice cream and a pony,” Arthur reminds him.

 

Eames rolls his eyes. “You’re such a goodie two shoes, I thought I’d broken you of that by now.”

 

“Takes more than twenty-four hours of bad influence to change a lifetime of boy scout living.”

 

“Shame,” Eames says, getting to his feet. “I was hoping I’d rub off on you at least a little.”

 

Arthur sucks in a breath at Eames’ words, and he knows that for once it wasn’t meant the way he’s taking it, but fuck it, why shouldn’t they? He as one weekend. Forty-eight short hours in which to shove every ounce of excitement and debauchery he’s ever imagined, and the man of his literal dreams in standing in front of him, willing and open.

 

Arthur pushes Eames back down on the couch, mashing their lips together and settling heavily in Eames’ lap. Strong hands clamp down on his hips as Eames opens his mouth, letting Arthur plunge inside to explore, moaning when Arthur bites down on his bottom lip. Eames stays still, his harsh breath and bruising fingers the only sign that he’s just as into it as Arthur is, but he lets Arthur take control, following his lead and murmuring encouragement when Arthur mouths down his neck.

 

“ _ Do something _ ,” Arthur demands, panting against Eames’ pulse.

 

“I don’t want to push you,” Eames whispers, one of his hands sliding under Arthur’s shirt and up his back.

 

“You won’t need to, I swear, just please touch me.” His voice is low and desperate, but so is the Eames’ answering groan, and then his hands are in Arthur’s hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, and  _ Jesus _ , Arthur had no idea it could be like this. Heated and fumbling, but deep and connected at the same time. He wants more of Eames; every minute, every day. He wants _ everything _ .

 

He startles when the phone rings directly behind them, tumbling to the side and off of Eames. It rings again, its shrill song a harsh reminder that they’re not the only two people in the world. Eames shakes his head, and turns to pick up the receiver, keeping his other hand wrapped around Arthur’s calf.

 

“What?” he answers, the breathiness of his voice sending a thrill through Arthur. “Absolutely not,” Eames barks, his hand squeezing tighter. “I am not taking him to a  _ mall _ . We’ll be mobbed.” 

 

Arthur presses his lips together and laughs into the cushion. Eames huffs and tickles him behind his knee, making Arthur jerk in surprise and tumble off the side of the couch.

 

“I’m bagged for tonight, but I’ll take him out tomorrow,” Eames says, trying to disguise the laughter with a cough.  “No, not tonight,” he insists, nudging Arthur with his foot. Arthur grabs it and runs his fingernail over his arch, sticking out his bottom lip when Eames doesn’t react. “I said no,” he tells whoever is on the line, his voice going hard. “I don’t give a damn what you agreed to. I might be on your payroll, but he isn’t, and he’s exhausted. Already sleeping, in fact. Yep, wore him right out.” Eames looks down a him, all good humour gone and Arthur sits up, still holding Eames’ foot. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Eames sneers and hangs up the phone.

 

“Eames,” Arthur starts.

 

“We should eat,” Eames declares, pulling his foot out of Arthur’s grasp and getting to his feet. He scrubs at his face disappears into the bathroom.

 

A shiver goes through Arthur, only it’s no longer due to the heat and intensity between them. He’s embarrassed and he has no idea why. They didn’t really get caught out, and he’s not the one who upset Eames, but he can’t help but feel like it’s his fault. He collects his bag and heads into the bedroom. There’s only one bed, but he studiously ignores it and unpacks his things into one of the dressers. The blazer is crumpled at the bottom and Ari is going to kill him, but he hangs it up anyway. Maybe he can get the wrinkles out with the steamer at the laundromat. The condoms haven’t been confiscated, but he leaves them in the bag, covering the box with his dirty clothes with the hope that he can forget it’s there.

 

Eames still hasn’t emerged by the time he’s done, so he steps up to the wall of windows and looks over the city. Even at night there’s a haze hanging over the skyline, reflecting the light pollution to make it seem like Los Angeles exists within the aura of obscurity and brilliance.

 

“They say never meet your heroes, you know,” Eames says ruefully from behind him.

 

Arthur didn’t hear him approach, and he doesn’t turn around now. He thinks sometimes that people need to be invisible in order to show themselves, and never has he met someone who embodies that more than Eames.

 

“You’re not my hero,” he tells Eames, trailing a finger through the condensation his breath leaves on the glass. “You’re my idol.”

 

“Is there a difference?”

 

Arthur meets Eames’ eyes in the window’s reflection, giving him a small smile. “Hero’s save people. I don’t need that.”

 

“What’s an idol, then?” Eames steps closer, his hand resting lightly at the small of Arthur’s back, warm and steady.

 

“Someone you admire. Look up to. Adore.”

 

Eames’ smile is small and sharp as his thumb rubs over the knobs of Arthur’s spine. “A fantasy.”

 

“Sometimes,” he admits, turning and wrapping his arms around Eames’ neck. “But that’s not always a bad thing. A fantasy can drive you, push you, move to do something you didn’t think you could.”

 

“You make it sound less frightening than it is,” Eames says, his voice hushed.

 

Arthur smiles. “It’s terrifying, but that doesn’t make it wrong.”

 

Eames’ kiss is chaste, but he pulls Arthur closer, until their bodies are aligned and Eames’ heat feels like it’s going to melt him. “Fantasies are fleeting,” he warns.

 

“Sometimes,” Arthur agrees, biting his lip. “But we’re still better for having them. I don’t want to think about what my life would be without the fantasy of you in it.”

 

“You may change your mind about that when you get on the plane tomorrow,” Eames tells him frowning. He looks at Arthur like he wants to pull away, like he wants to save them both from the heartache that will most certainly follow their time together.

 

Arthur tightens his grip and drags his lips across Eames’ jaw. “It’s not tomorrow yet.”


End file.
